


It Goes Like This

by linkami1379



Category: The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types, The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Glader Slang, Jealous!Minho, M/M, OC Alex - Freeform, OC Amerigo, OC Chris, OC Leo, Oblivious!Minho, direct quotes from Maze Runner
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-27
Updated: 2018-06-06
Packaged: 2019-05-14 08:43:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 25,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14766308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/linkami1379/pseuds/linkami1379
Summary: The story of the Maze and the Gladers in a parallel universe where the End isn't triggered for four months after Thomas arrives.The story of how two teens found part of themselves in each other as they faced the beauty, horror, and complexity of life in the Glade.The story goes like this.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all, I've become obsessed with a new couple! Yeet, let's go. 
> 
> House cleaning: 
> 
> I recently read The Maze Runner, but have not watched the movie. Events in this fic follow the book as if Teresa shows up in the Glade after four months instead of two days. Events happen in a slightly different order, and characters are portrayed as they are in the books (as much as possible!).
> 
> Some parts have been copied directly from the book, because it is difficult to only write portions that aren't already in writing. These parts are underlined. The citation is at the end of each chapter. Let me know if this isn't clear enough, I am not trying to steal James Dashner's work.
> 
> This work is un-Beta'ed. There are sure to be spelling and grammar mistakes. I apologize, and I plan to go through and edit them eventually.
> 
> Lastly, I'm making Thomas 17 turning 18 and Minho 19 for my own peace of mind, but it isn't strictly mentioned in this story.

When the Box arrived, Minho stood with the other Gladers and tried to hide his curiosity by standing aloof and disinterested, like a long-time Keeper should. Hushed whispering was thick in the air, the boys sweating slightly under the noontime sun as they huddled. Minho wiped his brow, shucking glad the flies hadn’t come to pester the group yet. 

He noted some of the boys were covering their ears, trying to protect their brains from the sharp clanging and grating of the coming Box. Minho had long since become used to it. Almost comforted by it. The Box meant food, supplies, and help. In this case, it meant a new boy would be thrown into this paradoxical hell. Minho didn’t like that part as much, but he selfishly allowed the curiosity to gnaw at him anyways. 

Finally, the grating, crushing sound that accompanied the arrival came to a screeching halt, and the Gladers waited with bated breath as the panels on the Box slid open to reveal their new brother. 

He was… somewhat underwhelming. Greenbeans always were. The boy looked about seventeen (though Minho admitted he was a terrible judgment of age), with cropped brown hair and a splattering of freckles over his arms and neck. His hands were covering his face, and Minho remembered being similarly blinded when he’d first entered the Glade. Newt stood shielding his eyes from the sun as well, looking across the Box with trepidation. Before Minho could find what he was looking at, Alby gruffly gave the honorary welcoming. 

“Nice to meet ya, Shank. Welcome to the Glade.” 

The newcomer was obviously overwhelmed, but he hadn’t started crying or shouting yet, and for that, Minho was grateful. He stood back as Alby and Adam hoisted the boy from the Box. Minho crossed his arms over his chest when the boy began gazing around the group with eyes the size of shucking plates. _Nothing new or different,_ Minho thought, and turned with a plan to grab a bite from the kitchens before returning to the Maze. _Nothing is ever really new or different._

*******

Minho discovered that things were, in fact, new and different. He pumped his arms as he forced his legs to take him that last stretch to the West Door, breath catching in his throat and sweat pooling in his eyes, in his ears, and sliding down his back. His mind was whirling, trying to figure what could have killed a Griever in the Maze. _Are there more monsters in there?! Shuck, have they been watching us, too?_ Minho cleared a vine that crossed the path, dust billowing as he immediately skidded and turned left where the Door opened into the Glade. Minho couldn’t help but feel like something was following him. The hair on his arms raised and prickled, not helping Minho’s frantic heartbeat. _Gotta tell Alby, gotta tell Alby,_ Minho chanted, his eyesight blurry as his feet passed from soil to dense grass. 

Minho made it three steps past the Door and heaved over his knees, gasping for breath as the sun continued to beat down on his back. _If that Griever was dead, then maybe there’s a way we can kill them, maybe we can escape, maybe this is the break we’ve needed all this time, maybe maybe maybemaybemaybe--_ Minho blinked to see black spots across the grass and he felt like cotton was being stuffed into his skull. With a sudden rush of dizziness, Minho fell to his knees and keeled over right there in the shucking dirt. He breathed heavily, unable to keep his eyes open. He willed the vertigo to pass and was desperately hoping he wouldn’t vomit all over himself like a piece of klunk, when suddenly a hand was gripping his shoulder. 

“Hey— you okay?” a voice called. Minho didn’t recognize it, but it was gentle and comforting. 

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Minho forced out. _Just peachy._ He glanced up, his eyes blurry and stinging with sweat. An unfamiliar figure crouched before him, but Minho didn’t feel afraid. Habitually, he threw out a, “who the klunk are you?” 

The boy introduced himself as Thomas. Minho rubbed his eyes and blinked them to clarity. The boy—Thomas—was the Greenie from the day before. Up close, Minho saw his freckles spiraled up his neck to his cheeks and nose, and dipped down below his shirt. And his eyes… they were so concerned and freakin’ _wide_ , Minho wanted to smack him. No one should look at Minho that way. And Minho shouldn’t like it. 

As Minho continued to take in deep lungfuls of earth-scented air, he noted Thomas’ wide eyes glanced over Minho’s person with rapt attention. And it was then that Minho realized he could be in deep klunk. Before Minho could contemplate the nature of the glance, Alby was there, and Minho was reminded of his recent flight and news. He pushed thoughts of Thomas and eyes like amber gems to the back of his mind. 

*******

Once the adrenaline faded, and Thomas was officially a part of the Runners, the rage that Minho had felt earlier returned full force. It was like Minho had forgotten the blank terror and _anger_ he felt when he watched Thomas collapse on the Maze floor as the Door closed. Minho had panicked. Worse than that, Minho let his rage bring him _to_ that panic. Memories that Minho never wanted to relive were dragged from the darkness of his mind when Thomas pulled that stunt. 

So, when Minho saw the freckled teen walking across the Glade, apparently deep in thought, the memories surged up and the fury that Minho had pushed aside returned, completely unhindered. It coursed hot through Minho’s veins, blinding the teen as he walked up to Thomas. Thomas didn’t notice the other boy until he was spun around and backed into a nearby Maple tree. 

“You shouldn’t have come after me,” Minho growled, gripping the front of Thomas’ shirt in his shaking fists. “We made it, but that wasn’t ever done before. Do you understand that? Do you understand that no one has lived that before? Survived a night in the Maze?” Minho’s voice grew louder with every word. 

“Dude, back off,” Thomas said, trying to break away from Minho. His face was bunched in growing frustration. 

“No, not until you shucking listen to me!” Minho bent his head until he was eye to eye with those amber gems. “All three of us could have died. Just like that; body parts added to the Graveyard.” Thomas stared back with his jaw set and nostrils flaring. “Why would you follow when no one had done it before!” Minho saw flashes of red, saw a boy swallowed by darkness as Minho was pushed to safety. He felt nauseous. 

“I’ll never leave someone when I know I could help them,” Thomas snarled. He gripped Minho’s hand and shoved it into Minho’s own chest. “You just elected me as the new Keeper of the Runners, and now you’re saying klunk about this?” 

“I did that to get you a place as a Runner! You obviously deserve it!”

“Then why the ever-loving shuck are you here right now!” Thomas was heaving and Minho could see that the other boy’s own anger was brimming at the surface. Minho roared and slammed his fast onto the bark right beside Thomas’ head. _He just doesn’t understand!_

Thomas didn’t look at Minho with fear. He wore a firm mask of determination, and he stared at Minho like he was studying a curious new species. The Asian breathed heavily though his nose, his knuckles stinging and muscles straining to stay still and not act directly on the boy in front of him. 

“Are you more like Gally? And you’d rather see me dead than a part of the Glade?” Minho couldn’t help the bubble of hysterical laughter that burst from his lips. _You’d compare me to that nutcase?!_

“Ya slinthead, no, I don’t want to see you dead.” Minho shook his head before gazing at Thomas through his dark lashes. “That’s the whole point.” 

More flashes of memory shot through Minho’s mind. A voice screaming at him to run faster, to get out, that the Door was shutting. He remembered being pushed through where he rolled and rolled and came to a stop on the other side, safe in the Glade. But he had seen the Griever… and Alex had turned to face it… 

“Just promise me you won’t act like a shucking martyr again,” Minho said, suddenly exhausted. He dropped his head and squeezed his eyes shut, praying those stupid tears wouldn’t fall. They always took him by surprise. The emotions. 

“I can’t,” Thomas whispered. Minho huffed a laugh. _Of shucking course he can’t._ After scrubbing a hand over his face roughly, Minho stood up straight and backed away from Thomas and the tree. He shrugged and forced a smile, hoping it came across as natural. 

“Hope you learned something, at least,” Minho said. He couldn’t help the flash of guilt and regret at his own actions in the Maze, of leaving Alby and Greenie at the Door and running. _You thought he was behind you,_ Minho thought, _you thought he would follow and you both could get away._ Minho had been sick on the vines when he found out he was wrong. 

“I did, that’s for sure,” Minho continued. “You’re one heck of a freakin’ Runner.”

“You’re more clever than you give yourself credit for,” Thomas said. “You’re the one who came up with the plan to—“

“No,” Minho interrupted, putting up his already-bruising hand to stop Thomas. “No, I saw you and your shuck-faced brilliant dive and realized that it could work in a different place. That the Cliff could be useful. The rest was all you.” Thomas didn’t respond. He gazed off across the Glade, his expression indiscernible. The anger seemed to have subsided in the other teen as well, and Minho was grateful. 

Minho didn’t want to be at odds with Thomas, no matter how stupid his actions had been. Minho wasn’t lying when he said he wanted Thomas as one of his Runners. The guy was a natural. Not only that, but Minho had the urge to know him better and see more of him. _Yeah, and yelling at him and punching a tree beside him is really gonna foster some good feels, what were you thinking you idiot._

Minho looked across the Glade with Thomas. He glanced over at the other teen a few times, but those eyes that had distracted Minho with their wide, curious nature had already begun to close off after their night in the Maze. They wouldn’t look at Minho. 

It was simple. The two boys had both stared Death in the shucking face last night. Minho had never felt so terrified or alone in his life when he had split from Thomas and Alby. And after the show that Thomas had given, both his unshakable resolve and his shattering breakdown, Minho had developed a thick reserve of respect for the other boy. As well as a healthy interest in the teen, but it all coiled in an ugly mass with the memories of another boy from over a year ago. The pile of emotions and thoughts made Minho’s throat close up. 

Minho shook his head, unable to discern why he cared so much. Why, even after everything, he wanted Thomas running with him in that Maze every day. Why he wanted those eyes fixed on him again. 

Exhaustion rippled through his limbs, thoroughly replacing the anger. Minho just wanted to sleep. Thomas didn’t look much better. Now that Minho’s single-minded rage was lessened, he saw the haunted look Thomas wore. _I did that,_ Minho thought. _I made him fight with someone he lives near. His Keeper. Shuck… why did you have to let your emotions get the better of you?_

“Even after I said the vines were a klunk idea,” Minho said, trying to lighten to mood, “your freakin’ butt went up there and used them.” It worked some. Thomas was smiling slightly, shrugging one shoulder begrudgingly. Minho reached out a hand and gripped Thomas’ bicep. He was surprised the boy didn’t flinch away. 

“You’re a Runner, through and through, Thomas.” Thomas looked up at Minho, and Minho swore the boy was looking into Minho’s very mind. “I just wish you didn’t have to be.” 

Having those gemstones locked on him again made his heart leap into his throat, and his eyes flitted over Thomas’ freckles, mindlessly counting them. He didn’t notice the way Thomas’s eyes traced the curvature of his jaw and the slope of his muscled neck. Shuck, Minho was tired. 

“Why did you vote for me to be Keeper of the Runners?” Thomas asked, and Minho realized his hand was still resting on Thomas. He was warm. He brought his hand back to his side abruptly. 

“Already told you, shank, shoot high and you’ll at least get something, right?” Minho replied as he shoved his hands into his pockets, still slightly surprised himself at his own declaration earlier. _But hey, it worked out, didn’t it?_

“That was a little much though. I mean, I know how everyone looks at me right now, with that stunt I pulled, and how everything is familiar here and—“

“Whoa, whoa dude, this place is shucking _familiar_ to you?” Thomas looked uncomfortable but nodded, his eyes hardened, as if ready for an attack. 

“Lucky shank,” Minho grumbled after a moment. He ignored the way his heart momentarily stuttered at the thought that Thomas could be a spy, could be with the Creators like everyone was whispering. That Thomas could lead them all to their deaths. 

But he ignored it without hesitation, because when Minho looked at the freckled boy, he didn’t see a spy or a killer. He saw a brave, clever orphan with gemstone eyes, muscled arms, and a savagely caring disposition. He saw a boy who risked his life for the slim chance that he could save two others in a situation where the odds were none. 

Minho realized that if Thomas were a killer for the Creators, Minho would probably be the first to go. He trusted Thomas. And that was that. Shuck it. 

“Lucky is one way to put it,” Thomas chuckled darkly, looking out over the Glade from their spot beside Deadhead forest. Minho shrugged. 

“Yeah, it is.” Thomas glared at the Asian. “I reckon that’s why you’re like, fifty times less scared of this place than all other Greenies. You’ve got some familiarity. Would’ve given my left nut to recognize anything, ya shank.” Thomas huffed and another smile pulled at his lips. Minho nodded in mock concentration. “I am fine with having a full set though, thank you very much.” Thomas chuckled and carded a hand through his short locks. He locked eyes with Minho, who remained stoic, nodding sagely at the boy, until Thomas downright snorted and Minho followed suit laughing. 

“As for Gally,” Minho said, “well, he’s a bit of a piece of klunk to everyone. Usually he calms down a bit after a few days. Just wait and see.” Thomas nodded, looking over Minho as if he were, again, searching for something particular in the Asian. They began walking towards the kitchen, Minho leading the way a little ahead. 

“You don’t show things like that often, do you,” Thomas said after a moment. Minho shrugged, suddenly feeling exposed. “You care more than everyone thinks you do.” Minho was glad that Thomas wasn’t able to see his expression. Minho wasn’t even sure what Thomas would find, but apparently he already found more than Minho had planned to share. 

“Yeah, I care about getting at least two portions of dinner tonight before knocking the shuck out.”

“Not if I take your extra portion first,” Thomas said, picking up his pace. Minho was glad Thomas took the hint and didn’t pry. 

Minho found himself smiling despite the rollercoaster his heart had just experienced. He chuckled at the sheer insanity of it and began jogging towards the kitchens. 

With that, the serious conversation had passed.

Dusk sunrays slanted across the Glade and peppered the two boys with light as they began throwing jokes back and forth to each other. Their breathless laughter made it up to the other Gladers before they arrived. Chuck and Newt sat down with them at an empty table, and it all felt so natural that Minho felt another surge of emotion in his gut. He quickly drowned it with chicken soup. 

Newt made eye contact with Minho and Minho knew his friend could see that he was reeling inside. Newt squinted his eyes, as if silently asking, 'you good?' Minho nodded. _Yeah, I’m good…_

Minho couldn’t help but want to make Thomas laugh more, keep him smiling. The kid looked like he needed it. Minho just wished the boy’s actions today didn’t remind him so vividly of the previous Keeper of the Runners. 

*******

That night, just as Minho was about to fall asleep under the stars, he heard a boy get up none too quietly, as if he was attempting for stealth but failing miserably. “Shuck off,” one boy mumbled, and a, “sorry!” squeaked a little farther off. 

_Chuck?_

When the not-so-sneaky boy managed to step on Minho’s calf, he sat upright and caught Chuck by the arm, eyes adjusting to the din. 

“Where you off to?” Minho asked, his voice barely a whisper. Chuck inclined his head for Minho to follow, and Minho rolled his eyes at the seriousness of the motion. The kid looked like he was performing a sacred duty, sneaking out of bed in the shuck of night. Minho grumbled and wiggled out of his sleeping bag, before following. Minho made sure to pick between the boys with more grace than the twelve year old in front of him. They began to walk towards to forest. “Dude really, what are you doing?”

“Thomas sleeps under a tree out there,” Chuck said simply. Minho noticed the younger boy had a blanket folded in his arms. Minho blinked. 

“Oh.” Minho never realized Thomas hadn’t slept with the other Gladers. He felt almost guilty for not noticing, but shook his head. _He’s only been here three shucking days, give it a rest dude._

The chirping crickets in the Glade sounded louder as they edged towards the forest and her plentiful foliage. It smelled cleaner out here, away from all the stinking Gladers. As the two boys stepped under the trees, it was cooler and Minho shivered slightly. 

The two boys picked their way to a small clearing near the end of Deadhead forest where a body lay curled underneath a tall Ponderosa Pine, snoring softly. Chuck unfolded the blanket he brought with difficulty, the fabric longer than he was tall and getting caught under his feet. Minho snorted and snatched the blanket from him before shaking it out and draping it gently over a sleeping Thomas. Minho crouched there for a moment, observing the slow rise and fall of Thomas’ chest. Thomas looked nice. _That is_ , Minho mentally corrected, _it looks nice to sleep here, and that Thomas looks peaceful and comfortable and_ that _is nice._

Minho stood and turned back to Chuck to make their way back to the field, but the brat was already gone. Minho sighed, rolling his eyes again as he made his way back alone. He did not look back at Thomas, or consider what it would be like to lay next to him. Absolutely not. 

*******

Training Thomas was easy. The boy caught on quick, memorizing the twists and turns of the Maze, and keeping up with Minho with nearly no trouble. He even mastered the technique of slicing bits of vine and throwing them on the path while running within an hour. The only way Minho could tell Thomas was out of breath was the way his face would turn red and he would purse his lips to release short bursts of air. Minho would slow for a moment and let the freckled boy take a breath. 

As the days went on, Minho found that Thomas needed the breathers less and less. That didn’t mean he stopped teasing him with sexual comments that ranged from, “come on, man, you need to work on your stamina,” to, “imagine you’re about to go in for round three with the hottest chick in the world! Would you wanna look like that?”

They chatted when they rested, splitting packed lunches between them and drinking from the same water bottle. It was so easy to be around Thomas. When he laughed, like _really_ laughed, Minho couldn’t help but laugh too, almost overwhelmed by the joy in his chest. He’d never had a friend like this before, and he relished every moment. Newt was a constant for Minho, but he wasn’t a source of comfort and camaraderie. That was Thomas. 

Soon, the frustration at Thomas’ hero demonstration faded in severity. The similarity between Thomas and the previous Keeper of the Runners began and ended at Thomas’ thoughtless leap through the closing Door. Minho was grateful for that. 

Minho picked up the duty of blanketing Thomas under his Pine tree every night. Chuck sort of recognized the shift and gave it up more than willingly, but the looks he gave Minho in the morning made Minho shifty and almost embarrassed. Why the shuck should he be embarrassed? Chuck had done to same thing for a few nights, for shank’s sake. It was the way Thomas looked at him in the morning light, though, bright-eyed and smiling, that kept Minho going each night without hesitation. Maybe it was also for the additional chance to see the freckled boy. 

“Let’s go find something today, eh Minho?” Thomas said around a mouthful of oatmeal one morning. A couple bits flew onto Minho’s shirt, and he released a prolonged, “ugh!” Thomas rolled his eyes as he finished chewing, ignoring the extravagant show Minho was making of picking each and every oat piece from his person. He could be a comedian, really. Minho pretended the show wasn’t meant to ignore how much he enjoyed Thomas saying his name. 

“Yeah, let’s go do that,” Minho snarked, slowly standing up from the bench before glancing at Thomas. Smirking, Minho quickly shoved Thomas’ face into the remains of his oatmeal. Chuck spit up a mouthful of water and Minho sprinted for the West Door, cackling as he heard, “YOU SLINTHEAD!” echoing across the Glade. Minho missed the way Chuck beat the table as he choked on his own laughter, as well as the knowing glance Newt threw after the retreating Asian. 

_Worth it._

When Thomas caught up to Minho where he was waiting at the Door, he cuffed Minho over the head and threw Minho’s pack at his face. Without waiting for Minho, Thomas rushed into the Maze with a goofy laugh. Minho was left cackling at the Door before he shrugged the pack over his shoulders.

Minho began to jog behind Thomas, shamelessly admiring the view and consciously ignoring the voice that told him he should keep his eyes on the path. Thomas glanced back and smirked before he took the first right. After a minute, Minho sprinted to catch up, and they ran together in companiable silence. The minutes passed easily, the scent of earth almost enough to make Minho ignore the smell of lingering oil and hot metal. The two teens alternated cutting a piece of vine to throw on the path, just in case they lost their way. Birds twittered from high above and morning light occasionally streaked across the pair of Runners. The air was cool on Minho’s tongue. He couldn’t help but grin. Running had always been enjoyable, but it never had been this delicious. 

It was, as usual, an uneventful day. By the time they took their first full break, it was nearly noon with the sun almost directly overhead. Thomas looked so peaceful. He held his face to the sky, leaning back on his hands, breaths measured and full. Minho leaned over, noticing a wad of oatmeal that had crusted onto Thomas’ jaw. It was covering at least two freckles. Without thinking, he reached up to pick it off. 

Thomas jerked away when Minho touched him, and Minho froze, hand outstretched, eyes locked with amber gemstones. “Oatmeal,” Minho said, his tongue heavy in his mouth, heart beating wildly and brain whirling as if he’d committed a sin. Thomas’ eyes were so wide, just like his first day when he was in the Box. 

“Where,” Thomas said, voice soft. Minho couldn’t fathom why they were talking so quietly, but he didn’t want to break it. He steeled himself and reached forward again slowly to remove the leftovers of his morning prank. 

“Here,” Minho whispered, fingers peeling it away and dropping it to the Maze floor. He was closer to Thomas now, leaning forward on one hand, the other hovering beside Thomas’ cheekbone. _What do I do now?_ Minho panicked. His heart fluttered and stomach churned. _Why the shuck do I need to do anything now? I’m frozen like a piece of dried klunk!_ Then Thomas turned his head slightly so his skin brushed Minho’s fingertips. His eyes never left Minho’s, not even to watch as Minho swallowed thickly. 

“Thanks,” Thomas said. Minho’s lips parted, his mind in overdrive. It clicked. And Minho stopped breathing. _Oh shuck, this is full-blown attraction to a shucking dude that you mother-shucking live with, oh klunkshuck--_

Minho pulled back and nodded sharply, grunting out a, “welcome”, before turning to chug from their water bottle. His mouth should not be this dry right now. He began packing up while ignoring the feeling of Thomas’ eyes on him. Minho was ready to run again within fifteen seconds flat. Thomas stood, and Minho finally looked at him to see the shank smirking, his captivating eyes nearly leaving Minho rooted to the spot. Minho glared at the teen and forced his legs to move. 

“You got a problem?” Thomas said. 

“Shank,” Minho tossed behind him as he began to run, needing to say something to break the heavy pause. 

“Klunk-face,” Thomas replied, his voice breaking into his dopey laughter. Minho was glad Thomas couldn’t see the klunk-eating grin he wore. Maybe this was okay. It sure as shuck felt okay. 

*******

Minho padded barefoot into Deadhead forest, carefully picking his way around pinecones and branches. The moon was bright tonight and he could easily discern where to step. The familiar quilt was bundled in one muscled arm, and he looked up to see the Thomas Tree, as Minho had dubbed it. The boy for whom the tree was named lay curled up as usual. Minho unwrapped the blanket as he walked forward, shaking it out with a flick of his wrists. He crouched to drape it over his fellow Runner. 

Minho froze when wide gemstones gazed at him, completely awake. 

“Minho,” Thomas said. Minho managed to raise one arched brow. 

“Yeah?” Minho was surprised at how steady his voice was, his lungs stuttering as his eyes traced vibrant freckles on Thomas’ pale face, his skin nearly glowing in the moonlight that cut through the branches. Minho realized he hadn’t released the quilt, and he let it drop onto Thomas before resting his elbows on his knees to remain crouched before the other teen. Minho watched Thomas swallow, the shadow of his Adam’s apple bobbing dark against the moon-pale skin. 

“There’s room.” 

“Huh?” Minho said, knowing exactly what Thomas meant but doubted himself all the same. Thomas did not just invite him to sleep under the Thomas Tree. With Thomas himself. He wouldn’t, it wouldn’t make sense, unless--- _unless what?_ Minho squinted down at Thomas who began to sit up and cross his arms. 

“Room. Here,” Thomas said. He paused. “With me.” Minho inhaled harshly, the sound loud in the limited space between them. Crickets continued to chirp around them, a breeze ruffling his hair and stirring Minho to nod before he could think any more about it. It didn’t mean what Minho thought it meant. It couldn’t. Was it even okay to be attracted to a guy like this? Was it normal? Minho couldn’t remember. All the guys talked about girls, and maybe (definitely) there were rumors about some of the guys his age fooling around with each other, but that was it. Fooling around. 

“Uh, okay. Yeah. Look at all this room.” Minho turned to lay himself down a few feet away from Thomas and he couldn’t help but panic that Thomas wanted to fool around. Minho didn’t want that. 

_Okay,_ Minho admonished internally. _I’m not opposed. I’ve got eyes, a brain, and a dick, I’m not an idiot. That would be very nice._

The problem was Minho wanted more. There was no way Thomas wanted that, too. Thomas was not just a nice ass and a pretty smile. Though he definitely had those perks. 

It took over an hour for Minho to drift off to sleep facing away from Thomas, his heart confused, mind spinning, and feet cold. He didn’t see Thomas gaze at his back from under the quilt, an expression of hurt, guilt, and indecision etched between his brows. He didn’t see the space Thomas had made under the quilt that would perfectly fit a well-built Keeper. 

*******

“So you know what I said to him?” Minho snorted to himself at the memory and Thomas let out a huffed, “huh” as they jogged their way back to the West Door. Minho began to mimic George with massive exaggeration, “Uhh, yeah hey good-looking.” Thomas barked a laugh. “Can I, you know, like do something with you?” Thomas was still laughing and Minho kept going. “You know, that stuff… I’ll make you feel _good_.” Minho let his voice drop an octave and the end, and Thomas tripped over his own feet so hard his almost ate it. 

“George refuses to say ‘sex’, dude, it’s sad really,” Minho laughed, steadying Thomas with one arm while jogging backwards. The freckled teen wiped his face, the grin plastered to his face making Minho’s stomach flip. “But you know what the best part is?” Minho continued, waiting for affirmation from Thomas. “Mag was so sick with the flu or something that he _literally_ klunked himself laughing.” 

“Oh shuck, no!”

“Dude it was nasty,” Minho snickered, rounding the corner, only to come face to face with a Griever. Minho instantly stopped and turned to stop Thomas. His arm wrapped around Thomas’ chest and he pushed to teen backwards around the corner again, ignoring the fingers gripping his forearm hard enough to bruise. His heart was beating a mile a minute and his only thought was to _protect protect protect, won’t leave him behind this time, oh shuck how’re we going to get back--_

Minho only realized the fingers were trying to remove his arm when they were a good four yards away from the fork in the path. 

“Minho, Min stop, I don’t think it’s following us,” Thomas snapped, placing both hands on Minho’s shoulders to stop him. Thomas was running backwards, trying to stop the single-minded Asian. Minho was breathing heavily, and he tried to slow his heart to hear over the rushing in his ears. Nothing. No clanging, no whirring. Silence. It made Minho sick. Minho shrugged Thomas’ hands off him and began to pace. 

“From here, there’s only one way back, and it’s shucking that way,” Minho growled, pointing roughly to where the silent Griever sat just behind the fork in the Maze. 

“I know, shuck-face,” Thomas said, nostrils flaring. 

“There’s only so much time we have to wait, and there’s only one other way it could go, and that’s a shucking dead-end,” Minho said, thumb jerking towards the fork leading left, “so we’ll only have a moment to get around and—“ Minho’s pacing was interrupted by Thomas’ grip once again on his shoulders. Thomas shook him a little, and Minho grunted, trying to break free, only for Thomas to shake him again. 

“Look at me, man, we’re going to get out of here. I won’t let it get you.” Minho huffed through his nose, his lips curled in an ugly scowl. 

“Shuck you,” Minho spat, his fear filling his stomach and throat with acid so rancid he could almost smell it. _You’ll protect me? You shucking klunk, I’m not going to let it get to you, you know what would happen to me if you were shucking taken in front of me? I won’t let it, shuck that, you selfish, good-for-nothing--_

“You think you’re the only one who cares?!” Thomas yelled, shaking Minho again and Minho stopped. His eyes snapped to those amber gemstones. Minho blanched and reddened in quick succession, realizing he had spoken his thoughts aloud. “Maybe we can run past it.” Minho rolled his eyes, successfully pushing away Thomas’ warm hands before bringing his own hands into his hair. “It wasn’t moving,” Thomas insisted, already walking in the direction of the waiting Griever. 

“Don’t you dare, Thomas,” Minho snarled, jogging to catch up. “You suicidal bastard, get back here—“ But suddenly, Thomas’ expression became determined and unafraid, like it had when he ran from the Grievers nearly a month ago. Minho tried not to choke on his own fear as he ran to catch up. 

“Please, please, please don’t move,” Minho gasped quietly, begging the Griever to have mercy as he watched Thomas turn the corner ahead of him. 

Minho wasn’t breathing. He rounded the corner without a thought, his mind empty and yet screaming simultaneously. Thomas was racing _beyond the silent Griever_. Thomas looked back, his gemstone eyes panicked and Minho didn’t connect the dots that the fear he was for him until he had skirted beside the mass of metal and fleshy goop and reached Thomas’ side. Thomas clasped one hand on the back of Minho’s neck and gripped Minho’s arm with the other. 

The freckled boy was searching for something, and Minho didn’t know what it was or if he found it. Thomas was heaving in lungfuls of air and he nodded once before dragging Minho with him to start jogging towards the Door again. Minho followed blindly. _Coward,_ Minho cursed himself. _Such a shucking coward._ Minho didn’t notice the tears that welled up even when it was hard to see, and he blinked only to have them fall down his cheeks. He didn’t notice when he followed Thomas over their vine markers, and finally back through the West Door and into the Glade. 

Minho kept running to the Map Room behind Thomas and only stopped when he closed the door behind them both. Minho felt numb, and he plastered on what he hoped was a carefree smile when Thomas glanced his way. Minho grabbed a piece of paper and began drawing before he could see Thomas’ expression, the lines on the paper appearing out of habit and memory combined. A soft hand rested on the back on Minho’s neck. Minho shuddered, realizing he was still breathing heavily. 

“You okay?” Thomas asked. Minho looked up and gave his signature smirk. It felt like his face was cold wax, unwilling to mold to his liking. 

“Never better,” Minho said, his voice nearly cracking. Thomas’ brows drew together and he pulled up a chair beside the Asian, hand still gripping Minho. He brought up another hand to his cheeks and stroked them gently, as if tracing lines down each one. The intimacy in the movement brought feeling back to Minho’s mind and body, and he collapsed in on himself. “I’m a coward,” Minho whispered, feeling his eyes well up again. 

“For shank’s sake, you’re not a shucking coward,” Thomas said, shaking his head in apparent disbelief before he rested his forehead on Minho’s shoulder. “You’re brave, and smart, and you’ve got way more experience at running than I do. Dude, I look up to you. I admire your strength. Shuck it, almost everyone in the entire Glade looks up to you,” Thomas continued. “It’s okay to be afraid of the Grievers, Min. They’re shucking terrifying. You think I’m not scared, too?” 

Minho gulped before leaning his head on Thomas’ and closing his eyes. He didn’t respond, and Thomas didn’t say anything else. Thomas was so easy to be around, even in moments like this, when Minho would usually rather he was alone. Not for the first time, Minho felt the comfort of being alone with someone else, with Thomas. A hand on his neck, fingers cupping his face, and warmth beneath his cheek, Minho let himself relax. 

He allowed himself a minute before he turned to finish the map before him. Thomas moved only to shift his hand from Minho’s cheek to his thigh. Minho didn’t object. And the tears never fell.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thomas and Minho grow closer as the months pass by, and a new friend enters the circle.

That night, Minho dutifully brought the quilt to Thomas like usual. Thomas appeared to be asleep, but Minho knew he wasn’t. Thomas had taken to staying until Minho arrived. Minho set the quilt beside Thomas, hesitated, and then laid himself down beside the teen with three feet between them once again. 

“Night,” Minho said, if only to break the heavy silence that Minho couldn’t determine the mood of. Thomas sighed as Minho closed his eyes. 

“You’re not a coward, Minho,” Thomas spoke. Minho gave a noncommittal grunt. “I think I’m just a suicidal bastard,” he joked, and Minho couldn’t help but give a huff in agreement. After a moment, Thomas continued. “Dude, you’re a bit of an idiot though.” Minho sat up on one arm and cuffed Thomas over the ear. Thomas chuckled.

“Why you say that, shank?” Minho groused, scratching his arm where a pine needle had pricked him. 

“I asked if you would stay the night here, and you laid your ass down way over there.”

“No, you said there was room. And there is room. We’re in a shucking forest with no one else around,” Minho responded blandly. 

“You shank, I meant with me.”

“I am with you.” Minho refused to believe that Thomas meant what he thought he meant. 

Thomas sat up and mirrored Minho’s stance across from him. His eyes were narrowed as he stared Minho down. He lifted the quilt. 

“Dude, it’s cold. You’ve been bringing me this shucking blanket every night for nearly a month. Get your piece of klunk up and share it with me.” Thomas’ words were clipped and cold, almost as if-- _as if he were expecting rejection._ Minho went for casual as he scooted himself over, his pulse hammering in his ears. 

“If you fancied me so much, why didn’t you just say so,” Minho grinned, unable to tell if his flirtatious comment was legit or fake. “I mean, who can resist these babies?” Minho rolled onto his stomach and did three quick pushups, locking eyes with Thomas on the last one before smirking. 

“Not me,” Thomas said, lips pursed as if he were trying not to smile. His eyes seemed to heat Minho’s skin where they raked across his biceps, over his shoulders, and back to lock onto Minhos’ eyes. _Really?_ Minho almost shuddered. _Because I am so down._ Minho’s smile faltered and he crawled the last foot to the quilt. “I haven’t been able to keep my eyes off those babies since I saw you the first time.” Minho swallowed hard. _Is he shucking with me right now, or…?_

“So it’s just the body, huh? Not the person inside?” Minho clutched his chest in mock-shock. “I’m hurt.”

“Yeah, can’t stand your personality,” Thomas deadpanned. “Get in the shucking bed.” 

“Technically, this is not a bed at all—“ Minho was pulled down beside Thomas before he could finish, and he laughed into pine needles and dirt as the quilt came down over him. 

“Ouch, fine, fine, it’s a great bed,” Minho groaned, shifting until he was on his back and able to see Thomas -- _oh shuck_ \-- leaning over him and glowing in the moonlight. Minho, for the life of him, couldn’t come up with another sassy comment. He simply stared at Thomas, and Thomas gazed back. It didn’t even feel awkward. After a moment (or was it an hour?) Thomas lay down beside Minho, curling into his go-to fetal position. He kept his eyes locked on Minho until he let them drift closed. 

“Thanks, Minho,” Thomas said. Minho nodded even though Thomas couldn’t see it anymore. Despite the _oh shuck, oh shuck, oh shuck_ that was still going through Minho’s mind, he found himself sleeping soon, too. 

*******

It became routine. Wake up next to Thomas, eat breakfast with Thomas, run with Thomas, joke with Thomas, eat dinner with Thomas, and sleep next to Thomas. Lather, rinse, and repeat. Three days passed in this fashion, and Minho couldn’t get himself to say the words he knew were on the tip of his tongue. He couldn’t even get himself to say anything when he woke up that morning with Thomas cradled in his arms, Minho’s body curled around him under the quilt. Instead of turning away, Minho gave into his urges and burrowed his face into Thomas’ neck until his watch chimed it was time to get up. Even then, he didn’t move until Thomas did first. 

While in the Maze the day before, another boy had joined the ranks. Amerigo was snarky and thin as a pole. Because of that, the obligatory “Greenbean” title switched to “Beanpole” within a day. His almond-shaped eyes and dark hair were similar to Minho’s own, but his pale white skin was definitely different. Minho wouldn’t admit to anyone that he keenly watched Thomas when Thomas met the newcomer, a bud of worry in his chest that Thomas would favor Amerigo over himself. Minho found he did not like this whole development. To Minho’s relief, Amerigo’s sass went well with Winston’s dry humor, and he joined the Slicers without complaint. 

Later, Minho was packing lunch for the day. His eyes occasionally scanned outside the pantry in case Frypan came back and found Minho shamelessly taking the last of the turkey roast. 

“Ready when you are!” Minho jumped and spun around to see Thomas leaning against the pantry door with his arms crossed and hip cocked out, a cheesy grin on his face. 

“Freakin’ scared me, dude,” Minho said as he sealed the plastic bag of turkey and plucked a couple apples from another bag nearby. Thomas shrugged, completely unabashed. He walked over and took his backpack off to hold it open, standing directly beside Minho. Their arms brushed as the Asian deposited their lunch haphazardly in the pack. 

“I wonder why some of the Grievers aren’t working like that,” Thomas said for the nth time. “I mean, yeah, both times were during the day, so maybe it has something to do with that?” Minho scratched his scalp and placed a hand between Thomas’ shoulder blades as they stepped from the pantry. 

“I just hope we don’t see another one today,” Minho replied just like he had the day before. 

“But maybe it means something, maybe it’s a clue. Maybe the way out is _through_ the Grievers,” Thomas continued. Minho sighed.

It was the same thought process that the duo had been contemplating since they saw the docile Griever four days prior. They had also discussed it with Alby, once he had fully recovered. Granted, that was after Alby had called for Thomas specifically, only to say that he recognized him from his returned memories. None of them knew what any of it meant, yet. 

Minho could tell it would be a while before Alby trusted Thomas again. Minho was surprised that his own feelings for the teen remained firm. _Even though this is the third Glader who has recognized Thomas from his memories,_ Minho’s mind supplied unhelpfully. 

But Minho saw the way Thomas’ face contorted with frustration and confusion when Alby had growled he’d seen Thomas in his memories. Minho watched the freckled teen try to win back Alby’s trust by working long hours in the Map Room, pouring over the maps. Minho knew when Thomas shrugged and commented, “maybe somehow I am connected, and I just have to figure it out to get us out,” Thomas was tearing himself up inside. 

Minho blinked to clear his head of the Thomas-centered thoughts. 

“If the way out is through the Grievers, then the only way out is in death,” Minho said darkly. Thomas gave him one of his searching looks before biting his lip and looking at the ground. Minho wondered what he was thinking about, but refrained from prying this time. Some things Thomas needed to broach first before Minho did. 

*******

A month passed with no developments in the Maze. They found two more ‘dead’ Grievers, but nothing that could explain why they showed up that way, or any progress on how the Maze worked. Minho was simply grateful for Thomas’ constant presence. 

Every morning, Minho woke up curled around Thomas. Today was no exception. Minho grumbled slightly when the figure in his arms twisted away and the warmth under the quilt was disturbed. The quilt was large enough to wrap underneath the boys as well as over them, and Minho always snagged the ‘inside’ spot because Thomas liked to fling a leg out during the night. 

Minho burrowed deeper in the blanket until he was completely underneath it and reached blindly out for Thomas. Sleep was thick in his muscles. Even when he found Thomas’ shirt he could hardly grip the fabric. He heard Thomas give a goofy laugh at the sad attempt. Minho huffed, eyes still closed and left his hand on Thomas -- _Was that his leg? Or his side?_ \-- slowly drifting again. 

Suddenly, the quilt was removed from Minho’s person and dawn light turned his eyelids ruby red. 

“Thomas,” Minho practically whined, curling his arms over his head. He heard another laugh and cracked his eyes open to see a blurry, freckled face between his arms. He closed his eyes again, unable to keep them open. 

“Min,” came a soft voice from directly above him. 

“Mmm,” Minho replied, the breeze warm enough over his skin that he could probably fall back asleep without the blanket. Shuck it. His alarm hadn’t gone off, meaning it wasn’t even seven a.m. yet. Thomas didn’t say anything else, and Minho couldn’t get himself to reach wakefulness yet. He was content to feel Thomas’ presence with him in the dawn light.

“Where do you think Gally went?” 

Minho groaned. 

“Yur wakin’ me up tuh ask ‘bout tha’ slinthead?” Minho said, his voice muffled by sleep and his cheek squished against the ground. 

“It’s been a while since we saw him… I can’t help but worry…” Minho forced his fingers to move slightly where they still rested against Thomas. 

“You don’ have tah save ever’one, mmm?” Minho said. Minho could practically see Thomas shaking his head. 

“After what happened to Ben… I’m worried about Gally’s mind.” _Well that makes two of us, and maybe the entire rest of the Glade._ But Thomas had a point. Ben had attacked Thomas within the first few days of Thomas’ arrival after Ben had regained his memories. Gally had had his memories for months before Thomas came to the Glade, but once Thomas entered the ranks, he had seemed to slip more than usual. The pure malice in his eyes when Thomas was made a Runner was enough to give Minho goose pimples. 

Minho was sure that Thomas felt uncomfortable with what they had done to Ben after his actions against the freckled teen… what they had to do. Minho could tell Thomas hadn’t liked it. Minho didn’t like it either, but in a small, closed-off area, it was incredibly dangerous to have a potential murderer in their midst. 

Minho forced his eyes open, but everything was blurry with sleep. He blinked a few times and dragged himself to a sitting position before crawling to straddle Thomas from behind, who was only a foot away. Minho propped his chin on Thomas’ shoulder and let his eyes close, draping his arms lazily around Thomas. 

“He’ll turn up, and we’ll keep an eye on him,” Minho said. Thomas hummed for Minho to continue. “I honestly think he’s beyond help right now. And if he doesn’t turn up… well, he could be dead. Could have been locked in the Maze overnight. We can only wait and see.” They remained like that, and Minho was about to drift again when Minho’s alarm began beeping on his watch. 

“Well, that was some pep talk,” Thomas said, leaning back into Minho as Minho tried to turn off his watch, forcing him to curl over the freckled teen more. 

“That’s what I’m here fore,” Minho quipped. He managed to turn the beeping off and he sighed contentedly into Thomas’ shoulder. _Thomas is so nice,_ Minho thought. _I like Thomas. Right here. In fact, I think I lo--_

“Hey, Min…”

“Hmmmm.”

“Dude, you’ve got really bad morning breath and I’m just about to lose it over here, please let me be free.” Minho barked out a laugh and made a show of holding Thomas tighter and breathing heavily on his face, only to catch an elbow to the skull. Minho let go and collapsed backwards onto the ground, moaning in only half-faked agony. 

“You deserved that,” Thomas said, pointing down with a stern expression. 

“Yeah, see me be nice to you again,” Minho grumbled. 

“You being nice to me?” Thomas laughed. “You were using me as a cushion. How is that nice to _me_?”

“It was nice,” Minho said, “and you were involved. Tadah.” The Asian pulled himself to standing and stretched slowly side to side, his arms clasped high above his head. He gingerly touched the growing lump where Thomas had successfully landed his hit of retribution. 

Thomas came up and whacked Minho’s hand aside only to replace with his own. He felt the area gently, looking at it carefully before locking eyes with Minho. He kept his hand against the side of Minho’s head for a moment, his thumb just barely moving in his hair. 

“You’ll be fine,” Thomas said, smirking before turning to walk back through the forest. 

_Yeah, we’ll see about that,_ Minho thought as his heart flipped around haphazardly. _Might be a little late for ‘fine’._

*******

The Greenie that arrived that day was Chris. Thomas and Minho met him at dinner. Rather, a monster of a teen that stood at six foot three and had buzzed blonde hair, dinner plates for hands, and twinkling blue eyes approached them immediately upon entering the dining area. He slapped them both on the back while exclaiming, “you two must be Thomas and Minho! I’ve heard so much about you!” His booming voice filled the dining area and all the other Gladers laughed at Thomas’ confused glance and Minho’s taking-no-klunk expression. 

“Why would you already know who we are,” Thomas grumbled, but Minho saw Newt walking up behind Chris and somehow knew who the culprit was. The klunk-eating grin on Newt’s face was enough to win in court. 

“Come on, buddy,” Newt said, resting one hand on Chris’ shoulder and the other on Thomas’, making the height difference even more pronounced. “Everyone knows you and Minho are shucki—“ Minho rushed forward and clamped a hand over Newt’s mouth, but not before the area erupted in hollers and catcalls. Thomas was laughing hysterically as Newt tried to escape from Minho’s grip. 

“Was it a secret?” Minho heard Chris ask. “It was obvious when they walked up…” 

“We’re not!” Minho barked, but no one listened.

“Naw, they just _think_ they’re being subtle,” Amerigo cackled, and noises of affirmation rose from everyone at breakfast. “Minho essentially staked his claim right after the slinthead saved his life.” Minho finally released Newt to see if anyone would save _Amerigo’s_ life if Minho went up and put him in a chokehold. 

“He staked a claim? What am I, a piece of meat?” Thomas said, still laughing. _Oh Thomas, why would you use that analogy right now--_ Jokes consisting of Thomas’ ass and a certain type of meat erupted among the Gladers, and Minho sat down at an empty bench with his head in his hands. A hand came down on Minho’s shoulder. 

“It’s okay dude,” Chuck said. “I mean, you two are way worse than Newt and Alby, but I’ll forgive you.”

“WHAT?!” Minho’s head shot up and he instantly sought out Newt. The teen in question had the gall to look embarrassed, and Adam and Mag were in stiches at the bench across Minho. Thomas looked at Minho with an expression of disbelief that quickly morphed to… _is that resignation?!_

“See. He’s oblivious,” Thomas said, throwing his hands up. “Maybe someone will believe me now.” Minho was flushing down to his collarbones and his confusion was so thick he could slice it himself. It was like Thomas was insinuating something and Minho was missing it entirely. Not to mention Minho’s best friend was with the First-in-Command and was looking at Minho like he was almost sorry for him. 

Newt came over and sat beside Minho. “I thought you knew,” he said. Minho shook his head dumbly, watching as Chris pounded Thomas on the back so hard, the brunette stumbled forward a few steps. “I guess you were caught up in your own stuff.” Minho whipped his head back to Newt. 

“Dude… I’m sorry I didn’t notice. I—there’s no excuse.” Minho tried to pull together memories of the two, and found pieces clicking together. _Hindsight 20/20, huh._ “How long…?” 

“Long enough that I thought you’d figured it out,” Newt chuckled. 

Newt had been here nearly as long as Minho. They had been partners running for a short few months. Not only that, but the two teens had been through klunk together. Newt was there for Minho when the previous Keeper sacrificed himself for Minho in the Maze, and he was there for Minho when Minho was made the new Keeper of the Runners. Minho was there when Newt tore the tendons in his knee a year ago, and was there when Newt fell into a bad spot so deep that Minho stayed up all night to make sure the boy was breathing come morning. At some point, Newt and Alby had grown closer, and Minho realized now that he had simply been blind to the developments. 

“Well. Nice, dude. Bet he’s great, you know, with that height and huge feet and—“ Newt swung a fist into Minho’s gut and he keeled over laughing. A weight Minho didn’t realize he’d been shouldering was lifted. They weren’t alone. What had secretly felt slightly taboo that morning suddenly felt even more perfect than before. 

“Don’t get me started about how Thomas would talk about you to me, it was disgusting,” Newt said. Before Minho could ask the blond to describe _exactly_ what Thomas said, Frypan literally smashed together a couple frying pans before declaring breakfast ready. That was enough to stop all conversations. 

Chris became the loudest voice in the Glade, and despite his bulky, intimidating appearance, his laughter could be heard day and night. Thomas took a liking to him, and Minho grudgingly did as well. The friendship persisted even after Chris began making comments about Thomas and Minho doing the dirty late at night. If anything, the three grew closer, and Thomas would throw back comments that Chris was just jealous, and they would banter back and forth before Chris lumbered towards the other Track-hoes and Thomas would join Minho at the West Door. 

Despite his best efforts, Minho couldn’t help the curdling feeling that rose in his throat when he saw Thomas laugh at Chris’ jokes. Minho sighed and shook himself, bouncing on his feet as he waited for Thomas to catch up, only to see him grinning from ear to ear. 

“You good?” Thomas asked, and Minho just grunted and took off into the Maze, praying the familiar beat of his feet against the path would push those terrible thoughts from his head. 

It was a normal day until it wasn’t anymore. Funny, how things happen like that. Minho’s mind was racing as he paced beside Thomas later that evening. They had found a _hole_ in _space_ , and the Grievers shucking _dove inside it, what the shuck._ Thomas was avidly explaining the find to Newt and Alby, his arms gesticulating wildly as he described where the stones began to disappear when they were throwing them. 

“I need to see this, too,” Newt said, critical eyes looking at the ground and Minho was surprised the grass wasn’t shriveling before such concentration. 

“We’ll go tomorrow, we need to be sure we have enough time,” Alby said beside Newt, his hand resting on Newt’s shoulder. “I don’t want to go back in there, but… maybe…” Thomas nodded quickly.

“I don’t know what it could mean, either, I mean this is completely new and I’m not sure if it’s been there the whole time or it’s something different but it could be something to work with.” 

“Tomorrow it is,” Newt said with a nod. 

_What could it mean?_ Minho thought, so deep in thought that he didn’t notice him and Thomas had reached the dining area until Chris’ booming voice broke his concentration. _Ah, this feeling again,_ Minho thought savagely as he watched Chris rest a hand on Thomas’ shoulder, eyes crinkled in concern. Minho hated feeling this way about his friends. It made him feel dirty, like he shouldn’t be beside them at all. 

Minho shouldered his way through the feasting teens until he could get himself a portion of chili and cornbread. He heard Thomas explaining what they found in the Maze followed by Chris’ various questions. Minho sat himself down as far away as possible, the swirling emotions being taken out on the undeserving chili. He glanced over to see the pair sitting close together farther down the bench. Chris’ hands were clasped before him, but he was facing away from Minho, and he could only see Thomas’ thoughtful expression and he continued to chat with the German. 

“I know you’ll figure it out,” Chris said before patting Thomas on the head and ruffling his hair. Minho watched with self-disgust as Thomas smiled his I-trust-you-and-thank-you smile with dimples and everything. Minho picked himself up and left the building, no longer hungry. 

He didn’t see Thomas scan the crowd later in confusion, wondering where his best friend had gone. 

*******

Minho was sitting at the campfire as it crackled happily, sending sparks high into the cloudless sky. Minho had cooled off since dinner and was back to obsessing over the Griever Hole. No one had considered what was beyond the Cliff because, after Seattle had fallen off, no one went near it. _Aside from when Thomas and I tricked those four Grievers into taking the leap, too._

“You done, yet?” 

Minho was proud that he didn’t startle at the voice. Newt padded over and sat beside Minho, gazing into the flames beside his friend. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Minho said. Newt gave a long, drawn out sigh. 

“Of course you don’t,” Newt said, and Minho could feel him rolling his eyes. “You successfully avoided Thomas for an entire four hours. Everyone’s noticed.” Minho didn’t respond. _Yeah right, why would anyone notice that,_ Minho internally scoffed. Newt began to do a horrible impression of Thomas’ lilting voice. 

“Do you know where Min went? You think he ate something bad? Will you tell me if you see him? I’m going to check the Map Room, blah blah blah etc etc.” Newt turned to face Minho, and the Asian managed to feel slightly guilty. “So?” Minho shrugged. 

“You’re talking klunk,” Minho replied instead. 

“You really are oblivious,” Newt sighed again. “I know you’ve got this protective persona regarding him, and I promise there is no reason to be jealous—“

“Not jealous,” Minho grumbled, but even he could taste the lie on his tongue. 

“Uhuh, sure,” Newt said. Another pair of footsteps sounded from beyond the light of the campfire. “Give it a rest, Min. Trust me. It’s so much better to just let it out.” Newt clapped Minho on the back, and before Minho could ask what the shuck he meant, he heard the newcomer stop right behind him. Minho had a hunch who it was. _Can sense his presence like I’m a shucking wild animal,_ Minho thought dismally. 

“Minho.” He’d been correct.

“Hmm.”

“You’re my best friend, dude.” Minho shrugged, still facing the fire. 

“Mine too.” He heard Thomas come sit beside him on the log-turned-bench.

“And you’re more than that. I hope you’re not so hardheaded that you haven’t figured that out yet.” Thomas watched Minho’s eyebrows come together with disbelief. “No shucking—all this time? You thought, what, I was trying to be friends with you?” 

Minho’s head whipped around. “What, you weren’t?”

“No, you klunk for brains! I have been trying to show you I care! More than a friend! God, you’re hopeless.” Thomas grasped his face with both hands. Minho’s heart was in overdrive and his mind had left him. 

“But that’s what I’ve been shucking wanting for months now,” Minho said, dumbfounded. 

Thomas released a groan that was sin-worthy, and Minho glared at him. “You’re… shuck, Min, you’re my home here. I love running with you, talking with you, being around you… I love waking up next to you every morning, and I wish you would stop shucking turning away in the middle of the night because shuck it, I want you there. Min, I…”

“You’re joking,” Minho said with his mouth gaping. 

“No. So can you stop with—with whatever this is? Or tell me what’s going on?” Embarrassment flooded Minho’s cheeks and he narrowed his eyes at Thomas. “Was it the sex jokes?” Minho raised a dumbfounded brow. “Naw, you’re worse than me.”

“Darn straight,” Minho said.

“No, I’m not,” Thomas countered, “and that’s the point.” Minho licked his lips, his mouth suddenly dry. He couldn’t find any words to respond. “I thought Chris was stupid for saying you were this clueless, but I guess not…” Thomas trailed off when Minho turned back to the fire, unable to keep the brooding expression away. 

“No shucking way, really, Minho?” Thomas almost sounded angry, and Minho’s guilt and embarrassment only grew. “You legit have no competition.” Thomas opened his arms wide. “I’m allllll yours if you’ve have me.” He said it in a condescending, exasperated tone, but Minho’s heart stuttered. 

Before Minho could consider what was happening, his arms were gently but firmly grasped, and he was bodily turned towards Thomas. Minho’s breath caught when Thomas leaned in and he felt a nose slide against his own. _Thomas what are you--_ Warm breath ghosted over his lips before something soft pressed against them. _OH._ Minho’s eyes opened wide before he closed them and pressed back, unable to function any more than that. 

“Whaa—“ Minho said stupidly, blinking quickly when Thomas pulled away. Thomas removed his hands and Minho managed to catch himself with his hands before he fell over and ate klunk. Minho’s stomach was fluttering and his heart was thudding so loud he was sure Thomas could hear it too. He practically crawled forward on the log until he was right beside Thomas. 

“Really?” Minho breathed, searching Thomas for the hidden prank. 

“Is that okay?” Thomas asked. “Because if not, I’ve been reading a different book than I thought was in front of me, like hardcore overthinking and rereading and analyzing this book, and I just wanted to write some of it, you know, and you’re also shucking attractive when you sleep and—“ Minho rushed forward and slammed his lips into Thomas’ again, unable to ignore the groan of relief that Thomas released. 

Minho couldn’t keep his hands still. He tangled them in Thomas’ hair, which was now shaggy after two months of living in the Glade without a trim. He breathed heavily against the teen and immediately opened his mouth when Thomas shucking _licked between his lips_. Minho was a goner, his fingers gripping various parts of Thomas, unable to stay still. Thomas wasn’t much better off considering his hands went from essentially massaging Minho’s biceps to gripping his neck with his thumbs below Minho’s jaw to dragging down Minho’s sides. Wherever Thomas’ hands went, they went together, mirroring each other in their exploration of Minho’s person. 

When Minho drew back he saw bright, amber eyes dancing with fire, their pupils blown wide. Minho shook his head slightly as if the enticing picture before him would vanish. 

“I’m so stupid, aren’t I?” Minho gasped. 

“Yes,” boomed a voice from nearby, making both boys jump, and Minho couldn’t help that he instinctively pulled Thomas slightly closer. Chris lumbered over and sat across from them with a bag of marshmallows, a box of graham crackers, and two large bars of chocolate. 

“I thought this was already—“ Chris paused to wave a hand between the two of them, “—known, or something, as soon as I heard about you two from Newt.” Thomas gazed at Minho with such warmth that the Asian couldn’t tell what heat came from the fire and what came from the teen beside him. 

“Alright, alright,” Minho said, laughter bubbling out between words. “I guess I’m a lost cause, I get it now.” 

When Chris asked Thomas to hand over the skewers, Minho no longer felt the pinch of distress in his gut. It also helped when Thomas returned to Minho’s side and ran a hand over Minho’s leg as he placed a marshmallow directly into the fire. _Figures he likes his marshmallows burnt to a crisp,_ Minho thought regretfully as the treat burst into flames. 

It still tasted sweet on Thomas’ tongue, though. 

*******

The most recent newcomer was Leo, a dark skinned kid about thirteen years with a face that looked like he was constantly sucking on a lemon. His shoulder-length dark curls were often tied up, and he had a tribal tattoo with chevrons, plaits, and curving designs on his right calf. He was constantly teased about his stature of five foot two, and he never failed to wham the laughing kid who stood too close right in the nuts. To everyone’s surprise, he joined the Med-jacks, his fingers deft and precise in practice despite his spontaneous acts of violence (however deserving the victim may be). 

The month passed quickly, still with no Maze developments. Minho could tell that Thomas was restless because he couldn’t solve the Maze. The freckled teen pushed himself harder every day they ran, and while Minho could easily keep up, it still left him slightly worn by the end of the day. 

Most nights, Thomas, Minho and Chris would gather around the campfire and chat while snacking on various foods they had pillaged from Frypan’s pantry. There was one memorable night when Minho had found firecrackers stowed away (why were they in the pantry?!) and lit them inside a tin can. Minho couldn’t stop laughing hysterically at the curses and screams that came from the previously resting Gladers, his ears still ringing from the sharp noise. 

Minho wasn’t fond of massive public displays of affection, and luckily, Thomas wasn’t either. When with their friends, Minho found himself simply resting a hand on Thomas to have some sort of physical content (Minho was a physical man, he knew this), but rarely more than that. When they were walking, Minho often rested his palm on Thomas’ shoulder or lower back. When they sat next to each other, throwing jokes over to Chris and Chuck, Minho’s hand would lay against Thomas’ thigh. 

Thomas was the one who did sweet things in front of the other Gladers. These moments made them tease and catcall relentlessly. However, Minho didn’t have the heart to turn away when Thomas pulled a pine needle from Minho’s hair, leaning in so close that his breath heated the side of his face. He couldn’t move when Thomas absentmindedly held Minho’s hand to his lips, clasping the hand with both of his with his elbows perched on the table, simply leaning on the stolen appendage. Minho tried no to look like a lovesick schoolgirl when Thomas did this. 

When they were alone and undisturbed, that’s when Minho would pull Thomas close and kiss him softly. Minho couldn’t get over the feeling of Thomas under his lips, and Thomas was constantly complaining that he was such a sap. That didn’t stop Thomas from responding with fervor, though. 

Thomas was generally the one to bring the hot and heavy onto Minho. It often surprised to Minho, but he was more than willing once Thomas got him started. The push and pull of their bodies was delicious to the point of near-addiction. Minho couldn’t get enough of Thomas, and often heard Thomas mutter things between kisses like, “don’t stop,” “you’re so beautiful“, and “shuck, Minho!” Minho groused about the ‘beautiful’ comment, but couldn’t help using it to describe his partner as well. 

Minho’s favorite was when Thomas called out his name breathlessly in response to only Minho’s lips on his skin and Minho’s fingers in his hair. 

*******

It was the morning of a new month, when another newcomer would appear in the Box. Minho, Chris and Thomas had finished eating Frypan’s delicious orange zest pancakes with homemade peach jam. It was a beautiful morning, and Minho couldn’t remember being this happy before. That is, until Chris made another snide comment about Minho specifically, as he tended to do. 

“He must have a small dick if you can still run the next day,” Chris commented, jerking a thumb in Minho’s direction as he and Thomas walked a few yards ahead of the subject of conversation. 

“My dick is huge, thank you very much,” Minho shouted to them, and Chris chuckled, but they didn’t even turn to look at him. Minho rolled his eyes. Such was life when those two were together. 

“Who knows, maybe I’m just a champ,” Thomas said sagely, “and he just wishes he could keep up with me.” Minho couldn’t see the expression he wore, but Chris looked over and burst into loud laughter. Minho imagined it must be a cross between mock disappointment and feigned indifference. 

“Let me know who the Greenie is when we get back, yeah?” Thomas continued as he broke away from Chris and slowed his pace for Minho to catch up. The action sent a stream of warmth from Minho’s chest to his toes. 

“I’m sure you’ll know before I see you!” Chris bellowed, guffawing as he waved at the both of them. 

Thomas turned to Minho and grinned. “Wonder what kind of person he’ll be?”

Minho shrugged. “Who knows, but hopefully he’s got a better attitude than you. I don’t think I can stand your presence much longer, Tomboy.” Thomas huffed.

“Uhuh, yeah, you know you love me,” Thomas said, tightening the straps on his pack as they approached the Door. _You have no idea, Thomas._

“Yeah, more like I’d love to see you with Chuck and the other Sloppers,” Minho groused, tossing a smirk towards Thomas before he began to jog their normal route. 

“You know we could, like, take turns or something, right?” Thomas said beside him. “I could run the route one day, you could run it the next?” Minho tsked his tongue. “If you want to get away from me that bad, that is.” Minho glanced over to see Thomas raising his brows almost as if it was a serious offer. 

“Hmm, temping,” Minho replied, turning left and chopping a vine before dropping it to the ground. “But then the view would be gone, and it would be a shame to loose such an ASS-et.” Minho winked over at Thomas and the freckled boy may actually be blushing. _Add that to the list of personal accomplishments,_ Minho thought. 

“You bet you’d miss it.”

The day past like normal, with nothing to report and the same map to draw. Thomas may have sat directly next to Minho during their breaks, and Minho may have fed Thomas pieces of bread by hand. 

It was unusually loud when they returned to the Glade, even for an arrival day. After they finished their map, Minho and Thomas walked up to the Homestead where the chatter was most dense. 

“Newcomer must be interesting,” Minho commented, and Thomas nodded, his arm brushing Minho’s as they walked. 

Chuck appeared from nowhere, making Minho give an undignified squawk, saying, “dude, DUDE, it’s a girl, a shucking _girl_ , no one knows what to do, and she’s cute, and she’s a she!!” 

“What?” both boys said in tandem, but Chuck didn’t even stop. 

“She said, ‘nothing will be the same’, and I don’t know what it means, but we’re all freaked out cuz like…. Girl!” 

“Where is she?” Thomas asked, and Chuck pointed to the Homestead, which, really, he should have figured out. All the Gladers were crowded around and inside the building. Minho felt that familiar prick of jealousy in his gut. 

“You said she’s hot?” Minho said instead, walking behind Thomas as they made their way to the newcomer. Chuck gesticulated wildly with his hands.

“She’s a girl! Yes, she’s hot!” Minho rolled his eyes, but couldn’t help feeling curious himself. In all the years Minho had been here, it had only ever been boys. A girl added to the Glade… what did it mean? 

They three stepped into the Homestead and immediately, Thomas turned around and looked at Minho with a confused look. “What was that?” he said. Minho raised a brow. 

“Uh, nothing dude.”

“No… you said my name, right?”

“Nope. You eat something funny today? You didn’t fall and eat klunk earlier, right? Because I would’ve wanted to see that.”

“Only to laugh at me,” Thomas grumbled, shaking his head. 

“Yup.” Minho furrowed his brow when Thomas turned, though, and watched him carefully as they made their way to Alby. 

“Yeah, go ahead and see her, but she’s basically in a coma,” Alby was saying from his place at the bottom of the stairs. “Med-jacks are up there tryin’ to feed her, but it’s hard. Don’t want her to choke an’ die on us.”

“Heard she said that everything was going to change, that right?” Minho asked, standing directly behind Thomas. Alby nodded.

“Was creepy as shuck, not sure what it means. Other than the obvious,” Alby said. “Go see for yourselves.” Thomas nodded and took the stairs two at a time as Minho followed behind with equal interest. When Minho followed Thomas into the room, he had to stop himself from running into the stock-still teen. 

“Dude, lemme see too,” Minho groused, only catching a glimpse of dark hair splayed over a pillow. Thomas wouldn’t move, and Minho moved him aside after a moment. Thomas’ face was pale, and his eyes were flicking back and forth over the girl. Suddenly, he brought his hands up to his ears, his face morphing into something deranged and scared. “Thomas, what’s going on? Tomboy?”

“Don’t even know her name,” Leo commented, not seeing Thomas’ struggle. Instead, he looked over the girl with a furrowed brow. “Her vitals are normal, though, so that’s something.” Minho ignored him and couldn’t make himself look at the girl when Thomas looked like he’d seen a ghost. 

“Talk to me, Thomas!” Minho brought a hand up and rested it on Thomas’ shoulder, but he flinched towards the girl and away from Minho’s touch.

“I… I think I know her…” Thomas whispered, his voice cracking, and Leo’s head shot up. 

“What do you mean, you recognize her?” Leo asked, his pinched face becoming even more sour. Thomas’ jaw clenched, and he turned away without looking at Minho and bounded back down the stairs, his hands gripping his skull. “Hey, Thomas! What do you mean, you recognize her!”

Minho felt like he took a blow to the gut. He glanced at the girl—pale, sharp features, long black hair, and slight breasts—before nodding to Leo and turning after his partner. But Thomas was gone. 

*******

Minho final found Thomas talking to Alby an hour later, the two of them walking around outside the Homestead. Minho gritted his teeth, irritation thrumming though his body as he tried to catch up. _I have been searching for you and worrying about your sorry butt for this long, and you have the audacity to ignore me—shuck, I sound like a petty shank, can’t even with this klunk…_

“I recognize her, too, Thomas,” Minho heard Alby say shrewdly, and Minho picked up his pace to catch up. “But I also recognize you. Does that mean I shouldn’t trust you, either? And what’s with this ‘hearing her inside your head’ thing?” Thomas looked as frustrated and confused as Minho felt. He fell into step beside the teen, but Thomas didn’t even spare him a glance. Ouch. 

“I don’t know, Alby, I know you and Ben both saw me after the Changing… but I swear I don’t know any more than you do!” 

“You know her shucking name,” Alby growled. 

Minho released a startled, “what?” _How the shuck do you know her name? When could she have told you?_

“Her name is Teresa,” Thomas said, finally giving Minho a glance. _Yeah, I’m here, hello, just your buddy who’s been worried sick but yeah, no need to greet me, I don’t give a shuck._

“Do you remember her from before?” Minho asked, trying to burrow the hurt and frustration from his voice. Thomas was forced to face him. 

“She’s been talking inside my freakin’ mind!” Thomas nearly shouted, but he also looked extremely uncomfortable and almost guilty. Minho tried to wrap his mind around the whole concept. “And I think so… but that’s not how I know her name.” Thomas pinched his face, making an excellent impression of Leo. 

“She said my name right when we walked in the shucking door, and then she was sayin’ some really freaky stuff…” Thomas trailed off, his hands clenching and releasing at his sides, as if he couldn’t quite grasp something. A couple pieces were clicking together. 

“I don’t like it,” Minho said vehemently, immediately sensing danger from the upstairs Homestead. Whether it be an innate need to protect Thomas from the unknown, or a genuine gut feeling that this Teresa was bad news, it was enough to have Minho putting a hand on Thomas’ chest and looking him dead in his amber eyes. “Don’t respond to her. Better yet, don’t let her in your head, if you can.” Thomas’ lips curled into a firm frown. 

“She’s important. She’s special, Min.” Thomas swiped Minho’s hand away and turned back to Alby, his face set in determination. Minho again felt like he’d been sucker punched in the gut, and a similar ache began to build in his chest. “She was saying that she was the last one, a trigger of some sort, and that everything was going to change. And she… she shucking said that _we_ did this to the Gladers! Me and her!” Thomas was almost beside himself and he started walking again towards nothing in particular, gripping his hair before scrubbing his face with his hands. “She knew my name… she was calling me ‘Tom’…”

The evening sun cut through a haze that had settled over the Glade, making everything look beautiful and peaceful, when everything in Minho’s mind was anything but that. It irritated Minho even more. 

“You shuck-face, even if she’s important, the way you’re talkin’ about her makes her appear less ‘good’ important and more ‘bad’!” Minho said, trying to reason with him. “And she’s in a coma, no less!” Thomas ignored Minho, appearing deep in thought. Alby nodded in agreement to Minho’s words. 

“Yeah, Tommy, I don’t like this business at all. I’ve already been workin’ to trust you again, and now you can hear the newcomer’s voice in your head. And she’s a girl. And what’s she’s saying to you ain’t pretty.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Thomas growled, spinning to face the two Gladers. Minho had never seen the teen so enraged. “All I know is that she’s got information we need. She’s gotta wake up at some point, and when she does, I’m going to talk to her.” Thomas turned and began to walk to Deadhead. Minho was almost seething at Thomas’ stubbornness, though it had been something he admired in the past. 

“I’m not making any promises,” Alby said gruffly, crossing his arms. “You better be on our side, shank!” he called after the retreating form, and Minho sent Alby a glare that he shrugged off. 

“At least eat something, Tomboy,” Minho called after him, but Thomas just shook his head. “Thomas!”

“I’m not shucking hungry!” he shouted back, tossing the words spitefully over one shoulder like an attack. Minho stood watching him go when Alby was long gone, and waited until he couldn’t see the freckled boy any longer. He remained rooted to the spot for some time after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All sentences that are underlined are from this source:
> 
> Dashner, J. (2009). _The maze runner._ New York: Delacorte Press.
> 
>  
> 
> Let me know what you think!~


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Ending as been triggered and Minho struggles to face the changes in the Glade while at odds with his freckled boy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realized that I've been describing Thomas as freckled this whole time and it was never specified in the books. Oops. Thanks, Dylan O'Brien lol (and I haven't even watched the Maze Runner movie, just seen mass amounts of gifs). 
> 
> Apologies if that ever bugged anyone! 
> 
> With that-- onwards.

It was the first time in three months that Minho slept in his sleeping bag with the other Gladers. He was angry and frustrated, and he couldn’t tell if it was with himself, or with Thomas, or both. _Probably both._ Minho thought that maybe, after all this time, Thomas might have taken Minho’s words on the matter into consideration. But apparently, once a girl was involved, Minho could just shuck off. 

The green jealously that burrowed and slid it’s slimy talons into Minho’s gut was not something he was proud of. Frankly, he was disgusted with himself, just like he felt the time prior with Chis. It didn’t help matters at all. So when he finally fell asleep, he was grateful for the momentary silence it brought. He didn’t even dream, which was a relief. 

Especially when Minho woke to a cacophony of shuck-all. 

Newt was shaking Minho awake, and the Asian was up and out of his sleeping bag before Newt could say his name a second time. “Waz goin’ on?” Minho grumbled, stumbling from his haphazard standing position. 

“Minho, look at the shucking sky—it’s gone.” Minho shook his head. 

“What in the—“ Minho looked up. And the sky was _gone_. No sun, no blue sky, no stars, just a slate grey light the spanned over the entire Glade. Minho’s stomach dropped. “This… this is bad.” 

Newt remained by his side as Minho walked to the kitchens, glancing over at the forest as they went. “Chuck went to wake him,” Newt said, grabbing a bowl of hastily made oatmeal for both other them. The gruel brought Minho memories of months ago in the Maze, Thomas sitting there like a god in the sunlight. Minho glared at the oatmeal before he began spooning it in his mouth so fast he couldn’t even taste it. 

“It’ll be okay,” Newt said. Minho wasn’t sure if he was referring to the sky being gone or about his and Thomas’ spat. Either way, he gave a hum in response. Minho himself didn’t even know what it meant, but Newt seemed satisfied. “You’ll have to run today, though. This could be a break. This is something different. The Maze could be different.” 

“Yup. Sky’s gone, but that doesn’t mean the Runners can take a break,” Minho said drily. _Who knows what the Grievers are up to with this change, too._ “What will you do?”

“I need to find Alby,” Newt said. He expression was torn. Minho furrowed his brows. 

“What’s going on? He aright?”

“He… he's convinced this is it. That we’re all going to die, and that there's no bloody way out.” Newt held his hands like he was praying and pressed them to his lips. “He’s pulling away from me. Won’t talk to me as much. I don’t even know where he is right now.” Minho rested a hand on Newt’s back. His heart hurt for the other teen and he wished Newt didn’t have to face any of this anymore. If anyone deserved happiness, it was Newt, especially after the year of darkness he had already pulled himself from. 

“Go find him. Try to talk to him.” Minho saw Newt grimace. “Again,” Minho added, trying to sound encouraging. _Who knows if Alby’s mind can be changed at this point…_ “I’ve gotta Run.” Newt nodded, staring at his untouched bowl of oatmeal. Minho stood and left Newt at the bench, feeling his gut clench and whirl in sadness for his best friend. 

Minho gathered his and Thomas’ packs. He packed them distractedly, barely noticing when the water bottle overflowed onto his hand before he stopped the spigot. He saw his Runners also prepping for the day, and he stopped by their huddle beside the pantry. 

“This could be the Run that changes everything,” Minho said, and everyone looked at him in trepidation. “Or it could not. We have no shucking idea.” Mag rolled his shoulders, the Indian looking especially tense.

“Think the Grievers’ll be out today?” Barry asked as he tightened his pack straps. All seven of the other boys shifted uneasily.

“I don’t know,” Minho said. “Thomas and I have found four three Grievers that were ‘dead’ and wouldn’t move unless you touched ‘em. Same with you four,” Minho said, nodding an Khan, France, Bon, and Mag.” It’s kinda like daylight right now, so… you may find more ‘dead’ ones.” Minho gazed around the group, trying to appear the leader that they all looked to him as. 

“Think fast and run faster,” Minho finished, the familiar Runner’s motto a comfort in all the uncertainty. 

Minho saw Thomas walking with Chuck across the grass and he steeled himself. 

“You two having a lover’s quarrel?” Khan chuckled and Minho rolled his eyes. 

“You’d be the last to know,” Minho said, and the others snickered. _At least my suffering can cheer up my Runners a little,_ Minho thought dismally as he turned and jogged over the Thomas. 

“Let’s go, Tomboy!” Minho called. “No telling what’s in there today. Perhaps there’s something new and different!” Minho tried to keep his tone optimistic, tried to ignore the pang he felt when he saw the bags under Thomas’ amber eyes. 

“We’re still—yeah. Yeah of course.” Thomas turned to Chuck. “I’ll talk to you later, alright Chuck?” Thomas patted the younger boy comfortingly. “We’ll figure this out. It’ll be alright.” Chuck nodded, and Thomas jogged over to Minho, catching the pack that was thrown towards him. Without a word, the two runners made their way into the Maze, the gray of nothingness lighting everything with melancholy. 

*******

Chuck ran over and the words that Minho had been dreading left the younger boy’s lips. They only added to Minho’s growing unease and stress after a day of nothing in the Maze. 

“She’s awake! The girl’s awake!” Immediately, Minho looked to Thomas, only to find the teen had a pained and frustrated expression plastered on his face. 

“She’s talking to you, isn’t she?” Minho said, walking to stand beside him. Thomas turned to Minho, his eyes pleading. _For what? What can I do for you?_

“I don’t want to see her now,” Thomas said, and he grasped Minho’s hand before leaving the Map Room and everyone inside, walking briskly towards Deadhead forest. Minho opened his hand and nearly cried in relief when Thomas slipped his fingers between Minho’s. 

“I don’t know what it means, now that she’s here. I don’t know what’s going on with the Griever Hole. I don’t know why the sky looks like a shucking ceiling, and I don’t… I don’t want to be alone, okay?” Thomas exhaled sharply and looked at Minho like Minho was the only person who could understand. For once, Minho figured that every Glader could understand the confusion that they were feeling right now, but perhaps it was a bit deeper than that. _Because that was me. I left you alone last night._

“I’m sorry, Tomboy,” Minho said quietly, squeezing Thomas’ hand in his own. Thomas’ fingers where so much slighter than Minho’s thick ones. They fit so perfectly it almost pained Minho. 

“I know you don’t like her because you’re jealous, but that doesn’t mean you should—“

“I’m not shucking jealous!” Minho snapped, but the look Thomas sent him made Minho roll his eyes and card a hand roughly through his hair. “Okay, it’s partially that, kind of, but it’s mostly that I don’t trust her, and I don’t like her turning everyone against you, and I don’t like her talking in your head and klunk, and now with this going on I’m trusting her less and less and—“

“Min,” Thomas said, turning to face the Asian as they stood in front of the Thomas tree. “Minho, dude, look at me for a shucking second.” Minho slid his eyes over to the freckled teen, refusing to face him fully. He almost felt ashamed. Almost. 

“Really? Alright, whatever. You don’t have anything to worry about,” Thomas said, but he kept going quickly when he saw the retort on Minho’s tongue. “—in that regard. You don’t have to be jealous. For me. Of her. Whatever. You don’t need that klunk in your head.” 

"Don't have anything to worry about?!" Minho growled in frustration and brought his hands into his hair, pulling at the strands with a vengeance. "She. Is. Speaking. In. Your. Shucking. Head! Does that not concern you, even a little bit?" 

"Of course! I came out here to try and get away from it!" Thomas retaliated loudly. "That can't be the only reason, though, Minho. Come on!"

"I just... don't trust her," Minho said, unable to describe the strong desire to keep Thomas away from the dark-haired girl, to shield him from whatever she was bringing to the Glade. Minho looked up at Thomas with defeat, his head tipping to one side and shoulders slumped. 

"Min, you don't need to protect me, yeesh."

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Minho said under his breath, eyes suddenly on the ground, ready for the other boy to walk away any moment. 

“Yes you do,” Thomas whispered before he took Minho’s face in both his hands, forcing Minho to look up. He placed a chaste kiss on Minho’s lips. “Trust me.”

“I do,” Minho said, unable to stop his voice from cracking. “We just don’t know what’s going on, and she’s speaking in your _mind_ , and I don’t know how to help or… anything. I can’t do anything.” Thomas’ brows furrowed and he bit his lip, staring at Minho with unabashed emotion. The freckled teen opened his mouth to speak, only to be interrupted. 

“Forgetting about you was the worst part,” an unfamiliar voice broke the moment, and Minho closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. He wasn’t even surprised. “You really don’t remember me?” Minho grasped Thomas’ hands on his cheeks and held them there for a moment before bringing them together in his own as he turned to face Teresa. 

“No. Hardly. I don’t know,” Thomas responded, maneuvering his hands so one was still firmly clasped in Minho’s. Teresa looked pained with her face pinched, her black locks stark against a white shirt and pale skin, and her eyes dark and confused. 

Minho let them talk. They talked about WICKED and their part in it, or what their part could have been, and who they were. Who they thought they were. Minho listened but didn’t say a word, his mind spinning and putting together bits and pieces. 

“You said the Maze is a code. Why?” Thomas waited expectantly and then hissed in irritation. “Whatever I can hear, he gets to hear too.” A moment passed. Minho tried to fight down the jealousy that Thomas could hear her when he couldn’t. “Yes,” Thomas said aloud, color rising faintly to his cheeks. 

“Talking about me, sweetheart?” Minho said cheekily, smirking over at the girl. She almost looked put out at the comment, but she didn’t secretly talk to Thomas again that Minho could tell. He could deal with that. 

The Maze was a code that would release them. The Maze _itself_. It’s not like that wasn’t something they hadn’t tried. Minho was there before he was Keeper, when they had worked to put together the maps with their counterparts. Nothing had fit. They never fit. Apparently, they had missed something over the past two years, and it irked Minho that there were details that they could have found earlier. That there could have been a way out sooner. How many kids would have lived?

By the time they began to make their way back to the kitchens, Minho’s mind was shrilling that something else was off. It was like a memory that he couldn’t quite place, but it kept popping up like it wanted to be remembered. He kept looking around distrustfully, arms crossed tightly over his body, his eyes ticking back to Thomas every few moments. 

Then when Alby ran up to them, screaming at Teresa, asking what she had done, it clicked. Minho’s head whipped towards the Doors—and he saw them open when it was nine o’clock at night. 

“Oh shuck.”

*******

That night was a whirlwind. Teresa was locked in the Slammer, and though Thomas fought the decision for a moment, he complied relatively easily. The Homestead had become a makeshift Helm’s Deep with all the windows nailed shut and every weapon kept inside. 

“Minho,” Newt whispered, sidling up beside him and falling into step as Minho lugged a bag of canned food to the Homestead. 

“Hmmm,” Minho grunted, flicking his eyes towards Newt. 

“Meet me at the Map Room when you’ve stored that. Make sure no one follows you.” Minho, already in a constant state of stress and overdrive, simply nodded and continued on his way. Newt’s tone implied extreme importance. Minho dumped the overfilled duffel in a small pantry (the duffel didn’t actually fit inside it, but that wasn’t Minho’s problem right now), and made as if he was going back to the kitchens. 

When Minho was sure no one would notice his change in destination, he slinked off towards the Map Room, dashing the last dozen meters until he was inside the building. Newt was already there. Before him were all the maps, as if Newt were planning on moving them. 

“What are we doing,” Minho asked, walking up to years of painstaking work. They looked so simple and meaningless when they were piled up together like this. 

“We need to move them,” Newt said. He grunted as he slid another box of maps to join the rest. Minho could tell the strain of the past few days had run its course; Newt was favoring his bad leg more than usual. “I… as much as I hate saying it, I’m not sure I trust everyone here.” Newt shook his head when Minho bristled slightly. 

“Alby, specifically,” Newt continued, his voice catching in his throat. He looked at Minho as he dragged a hand slowly down his face. _Alby? You’re really so concerned that you feel the need to go behind his back?_ Newt looked worn. Minho stepped forward and rested a hand on the other teen. _You’re so shucking strong, Newt…_

“He’s saying to me that there’s no way out. I’m worried… I don’t know what I’m worried about,” Newt sighed, leaning slightly into Minho’s touch. “But I think we should keep the maps with us. Just in case.” Minho nodded. 

He trusted Newt more than anyone here, even more than Thomas. If Newt said they needed to move the maps, then they would shucking move the maps. That didn’t stop Minho from grumbling occasionally at the long, sneaky trips back and forth from the Map Room to the Homestead. It was tedious, and Minho was feeling the strain on his muscles by the time the last box was stored in the hidden closet on the bottom floor. Disguising the maps as weaponry worked well, but that only added to their weight. 

Once he was done, Minho couldn’t even tell Thomas. That was difficult. Thomas ran up, his eyes searching Minho for something, and he rested a hand on Minho’s chest briefly before taking off for the Slammer without a word. _Going to talk to Teresa_ , Minho thought. His chest twinged painfully. He still didn’t trust the girl. Was it okay to call a girl a shank?

Thomas returned to the Homestead ten minutes later, just in time for the Grievers to arrive. 

“They’ll get inside,” Thomas whispered into Minho’s ear and Minho held his leather-handed knife tight, the flat of the blade resting cold against his forearm. Minho nodded sharply. Newt was on Minho’s other side with Alby. No one could move a muscle as the whirring and chopping and rank scent of them came closer and closer. 

And suddenly, there was Gally, careening through the door and up the stairs. Minho shot his arm out and gripped Thomas hard as he shouted, “where have you been, ya shank?!” Gally only cackled madly as he strutted across the Homestead floor, and Minho remembered his conversation with Thomas a month ago. 

‘I’m worried about his mind,’ Thomas had said. Minho shuddered as he watched the blatant mania before him. 

“They’ll kill you! The Grievers will kill you all, one every night till it’s over!” Gally snarled, and Minho placed himself closer to Thomas as the other boy stalked over. “You,” Gally said, pointing a shaking finger at Thomas. Minho felt his nostrils flare at the violence in Gally’s voice. “It’s all your fault!” Before Minho could blink, Gally had raised a fist and landed it over Thomas’ ear with a resounding _crack._

Minho immediately went after Gally as Thomas collapsed beside him. The rage inside Minho reached his clenched fist as he brought them down on Gally lunatic grin, smashing him into the floorboards -- _When did Gally end up on the floor?_ \-- until a pair of strong arms grabbed Minho was behind. 

“Don’t touch him!” Minho shouted while Chris pulled the Asian back one step at a time. “This isn’t his fault, you lying shank!”

“You don’t understand…” Gally whispered, blood dripping from his mouth, a bruise already forming across his left cheekbone.  “ It can’t be solved. The suck Maze’ll kill all you shanks…”  Gally wiped his mouth with a shaking hand, his fingers streaked with red as he lowered it. The boy continued to mutter to himself, eyes shifting around the room of Gladers. Chris was still holding Minho, which was probably wise. Minho was ready to finish the job and give Gally to the Grievers outside. However, he didn’t have to. 

Gally spun around and began tearing the boards off the nearest window. Minho didn’t even realize Thomas was right beside him until he yelled at Gally, asking him what the shuck he was doing. _You’re going to let the Grievers into our only safehouse! You’re going to kill us all!_ Newt ran forward to stop Gally only to take a board to the head when the first one came loose. Newt careened backwards and collapsed on the bed, knocked unconscious. Next, Thomas stepped forward and tried to stop the boy, and Minho felt himself cursing at Chris to let him go, but the German refused. Thomas couldn’t get near Gally, and Gally didn’t seem to hear the cacophony that was every Glader yelling at him within the Homestead. 

As soon as Gally removed the third board, the window shattered and a stinking, whirring Griever began to writhe into the Homestead. Minho watched Thomas cover his face with his arms and fall backwards, scooting back towards Minho as fast as he could. 

“Are you alright,” Minho asked frantically when the freckled teen backed into Minho’s legs, but both boys were unable to tear their eyes away from Gally. 

“No one ever understood!”  Gally cried, shaking worse than ever as the Griever continued to destroy the window behind him.  “Don’t go back to the real world, Thomas! You don’t want to remember!”  He pierced Thomas with a look, and Minho could feel the boy go stiff underneath his fingertips. Minho inhaled to ask what Gally meant, but the teen _turned and dove onto the oncoming Griever._ Minho felt himself yelling again. He hadn’t meant it. _I didn’t want Gally to die, not really, not like this._

Gally’s body was enveloped by the Griever’s molten flesh and he left with the Griever as the monster began moving back through the window and outside. Minho couldn’t stop listening to the squelch and squish of Gally body being stabbed repeatedly by the retreating Griever. Finally, Chris released him, and Minho rushed to the window to watch as Gally and a horde of Grievers sped back into the Maze through the West Door. Thomas was right beside him, as well as Newt, Alby, and Chris their presence strained after the gruesome sight they all witnessed. 

_Are they going to the Griever Hole? Where are they taking Gally? Why are they taking one boy at a time? Are we safe for now?_ Before Minho could change his mind, he shouldered his way between the surrounding boys and bounded down the stairs and out of the Homestead. He heard someone shout, but he couldn’t tell who it was or what he said. He had to know. 

Minho pumped his arms and pushed his body to the limit, sprinting faster than he ever had since the time he ran _from_ the Grievers all those months ago. _Now, here I am running towards them. Brilliant, Minho, truly a shining moment for you,_ Minho thought as his breaths came in short bursts. He passed the West Door and took the turns as quickly as he could, grasping the Maze walls to propel himself around them. Minho stumbled over his own feet more than once, his legs struggling to keep up with the inertia Minho was creating. The Asian was surprised at how far ahead the Grievers were. 

The mile to the Cliff and the Griever Hole was probably the fastest Minho had ever ran. His heart was beating like a hummingbird’s wings, so fast he could hardly hear through the thrum of it. Minho wasn’t sure if it was his fear or his one-mile sprint that was most responsible for his speeding heart rate. 

Minho spun around the last corner just in time to see the last two Grievers leaping into the Griever Hole, and Minho leaned over his knees gasping for breath. His stomach roiled in nausea, and the Asian suddenly couldn’t help the rush of bile that came up. He staggered over to the Maze wall and retched violently. He could still hear the Griever’s flesh closing around Gally, could still see the spark of rational mind in Gally’s eyes as he spoke words that seemed completely mad, and could feel his muscles crying and seizing beneath him. But Minho learned what he needed to. 

_They brought Gally’s body into the Griever Hole with them._

Minho turned and began to careen back to the Glade. It took him longer on the return journey, but he still made good time and reached the Door to find Thomas pacing and seething like a furious cat. Newt stood behind him, holding a wet cloth to his bleeding forehead. 

“What were you doing, idiot!”  Thomas yelled as he marched towards Minho. Minho came to a stop a few feet from Thomas and leaned over his knees, glad the nausea he’d experienced within the Maze didn’t return. 

“I just… wanted to … make sure,”  Minho gasped, standing up again and taking his shirt to wipe the sweat from his face. “Make sure they went to the Griever Hole.” Thomas was basically patting Minho down, his face contorted with worry and immense irritation. Any other time, and Minho would’ve been flattered and thought the attention was cute. 

“And? Did they?” Thomas asked, settling for gripping Minho’s forearm so firmly it was as if he thought Minho would turn and race back into the Maze if he let go. 

“Yup,” Minho said before taking a deep breath and releasing it as slowly as his racing heart would allow. 

“You shouldn’t have done that,” Thomas growled, squeezing Minho’s arm harder still. “It wouldn’t do if you were taken with Gally. I don’t—I couldn’t—“

“Don’t tell me you wouldn’t have done the same if you thought of it,” Minho interrupted ripping his arms from Thomas’ grip and giving him a hard look. “Tell me you wouldn’t, and I’ll apologize.” Thomas held the gaze firmly, his jaw clenched and posture stiff as a board. Finally, he turned away with jerky movements and Minho released a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. As much as Minho wanted to defend his actions and give Thomas a taste of his own reckless medicine, it stung Minho, too. 

“What were you about to tell me?”  Thomas asked Newt, and Minho directed his eyes to his friend curiously.  “You said we had worse—“ 

“Oh yeah,” Newt said, wincing when he pressed a little too hard against the cloth. “You can still the the buggin’ smoke.” 

“The smoke…?” Minho repeated before he looked where Newt was gesturing with his thumb. “Oh shuck.” Black, billowing smoke escaped from the ajar Map Room door, and Minho’s stomach dropped. _Newt was worried for a reason after all._

“Someone burned the Map trunks. Every last one of ‘em.” 

Thomas shook his head and clenched his eyes shut. Minho watched him with concern, but after his statement earlier, felt like he should give Thomas some space. That didn’t stop Minho was wishing he could hold the teen close to his breast and simply forget that entire night. 

*******

In the end, Minho raced with Newt to the Map Room and Thomas went to check on Teresa in the Slammer. Thomas wasn’t looking at Minho, and the Asian was almost grateful. He didn’t want Thomas to see something in Minho’s eyes that he wasn’t ready to share yet, be it the truth about the maps, the true effect Gally’s suicide had on Minho’s conscience, or the confession Minho wanted to give Thomas after their near-death experiences today. Minho couldn’t be sure what he would give away, so he buried the sick he felt when Thomas went to the girl and followed Newt into the still-smoking Map Room.

There was a body crumpled on the floor. 

“Alby!” Newt screamed, stumbling forward to shake the dark-skinned teen. Minho rushed up next to Newt and gathered the boy’s arms, coughing as he inhaled ashes and fumes from the old, now-burnt trunks. 

“Grab his legs,” Minho snapped, and Newt stopped shaking Alby’s limp shoulders and crawled quickly into position. “On three,” Minho said, and the two boys lifted Alby from the ashes of the Map Room and managed to get him onto the grass outside. Alby had a deep gash across his forehead, where it appeared he’d fallen against something and cut himself. The teen was breathing to Minho’s relief. Minho saw Leo exciting the Homestead and jogging towards another Glader, and Minho called out to him to come over. 

“He said he was going to stay in there and watch the maps,” Newt said, his lip quivering slightly. “I was worried, but I didn’t want to be, I mean… Alby wouldn’t… wouldn’t _want_ us to die, right?” Minho shook his head, unable to take it all in. Leo jogged up and immediately saw Alby on the ground, covered in soot and still bleeding slightly. He was on his knees beside the boy in a heartbeat. 

“Right, Min?” Minho looked up and took in Newt’s defeated appearance. 

The side of Newt’s face was streaked with dried blood. His shaggy blond hair was clumped and unkempt, and the bags under his eyes were stark in contrast to his face, pale with stress. His shirt was ripped in places and he looked as if he hadn’t eaten in ages. Minho didn’t stop to think that he hadn’t eaten for at least twelve hours, either. Overall, Newt looked like he was near a mental breakdown. Minho couldn’t imagine what he would do if he were in Newt’s position, and Thomas had burned the maps and insisted that there was no way out. If Thomas began talking like Gally had…

Minho stood up and embraced the boy. Newt leaned heavily against Minho instantly, and Minho shifted his feet to support his friend, forgetting that Newt was, in fact, well built and rather heavy. 

“I got you, Newt,” Minho said gruffly, holding Newt’s neck and letting the other boy take in a shuddering breath before breaking away. Minho nodded at Newt. “You got through klunk before. You’ll get through this.” Newt swallowed thickly. “I mean, all that work on my part would go to waste, then, wouldn’t it?” Newt rolled his eyes, and a spark of dry resignation appeared. That was all it took for Minho to know that Newt would be okay. 

Suddenly, Minho saw Thomas running up behind Newt from the direction of the Slammer. His panicked expression brought another rush of adrenaline through Minho’s muscles and he had to take a deep breath to steady himself. Thomas sprinted right up to Minho, amber eyes flitting over the scene with growing horror. 

“What happened?” Thomas gasped, and Minho couldn’t help the hand that came up to graze against Thomas’ back. 

“Alby burned the maps,” Minho said. “Think he’ll be alright?” Minho asked Leo, who was still crouched beside Alby in the grass. Leo turned and nodded, pinched face showing slight signs of relief. 

“I’m surprised he’s breathing this well, considering the smoke and fumes from the fire. It’s almost as if…” Leo trailed off, shaking his head as he grabbed Alby’s wrist to take another heart rate. 

“Like what,” Newt said, walking over to crouch on Alby’s opposite side. Leo waited a minute before responding. 

“Like he went into the room _after_ it had nearly finished burning,” Leo said darkly. “He wouldn’t have lived, otherwise.” Minho and Newt shared a look, Minho’s heart going out to his friend once again. Thomas walked over to Newt and rested a hand on his shoulder. Minho watched as Newt leaned into the touch and took another deep breath. Thomas glanced at Minho, and Minho was surprised by the anguish apparent in his gaze. Thomas was too empathetic for his own good. 

“We need those maps, though,” Thomas said, looking down at Alby with furrowed brows. Minho shook his head and directed his face to the slate-grey sky. He heard Thomas approach him. “Teresa had an idea,” he continued, ignoring the way Minho’s body automatically tensed at the name, “and I think it would point the way out of here. Really!” Thomas insisted when Minho refused to look at him. “But without the maps,” Thomas said, his voice fading as he apparently turned away from Minho. “Maybe it really is hopeless.” Minho huffed through his nose and turned to his partner. 

“Follow me, shank,” Minho said as he turned back to the Homestead. He spared a glance at Newt, and the blond nodded once. Thomas began to argue, but Minho held up a firm hand. “I said,” Minho growled, “follow me.” With that, he continued on his way without another word. Thomas’ growl of frustration and quiet curses trailed behind him the entire way. 

“Voilà,” Minho said sarcastically, opening his arms wide as he presented the boxes upon boxes of maps to Thomas. “Now what was your girlfriend’s splendid idea.” Thomas expression turned from awe to annoyance in rapid succession. Minho glared at the freckled teen, unable to ignore or hide his feelings for Teresa in his exhausted state. 

Thomas stomped over the Minho, gripped a handful of Minho’s hair, and took Minho’s lips in a bruising kiss. It _hurt_ , and Minho tasted blood when Thomas bit Minho’s lip hard. That didn’t stop Minho from snarling into the other boy’s mouth and backing him into the nearby wall, the wood sending small slivers into Minho’s knuckles where they were gripping Thomas’ shirt behind him. Minho took out his insecurities on Thomas’ person by raking his hands under Thomas’ shirt and over his ass. He was also trying to tell Thomas he was so shucking _sorry_ , but maybe that message wasn’t getting across as he nipped and kissed along Thomas’ jaw and down his neck. Thomas moaned and ripped Minho’s head back sharply, once hand still gripping a bunch of black hair. 

“I don’t give a flying shuck about her like _this_ ,” Thomas said, emphasizing the last word by gripping the back of Minho’s neck and pressing his thumb under Minho’s jaw. Minho could feel his carotid hammering against Thomas’ touch. “So slim it, Minho, and get over it. Yesterday.” Thomas was glaring at Minho with burning intensity. Minho inhaled and closed his eyes, clenching them shut as he tried to bring his mind back to reality and away from thoughts saying, _touch him, hold him, mark him, make him forget everything that has happened today, be selfish, don’t let him go._

“I’m sorry,” Minho whispered, his voice catching in his throat. Thomas didn’t respond, so Minho continued. “The maps are fine, though. All nice and not burnt. What did… what did Teresa say?” Minho opened his eyes, Thomas appearing slightly misty before him with an indiscernible expression. _You and your mask, wish I could read you right now, Tomboy…_

Thomas leaned away from the wall and dropped his forehead onto Minho’s with a _thud._ He pressed his nose against Minho’s and breathed in Minho’s breath, and Minho took in the scent of Thomas. Sweat, pine needles, and something deep and distinctly Thomas. 

“Teresa thinks we can overlap the maps somehow. Overlapping them all by day rather than _comparing_ each day.” Thomas’ words were damp on Minho’s cheek. “But… I think we should let Teresa out to help us… she’s been in there for days, now.” Minho inhaled and exhaled slowly. 

“Then let’s go get her.”

Half and hour later, Newt, Teresa, Minho and Thomas gathered in the Homestead with a lantern and began the tedious work of overlapping the maps. And the maps began to form words. FLOAT. CATCH. But it wasn’t enough. They needed more. 

That night, the Grievers took Adam. Minho would never forget the sight of Adam laughing uncontrollably when Minho found out his best friend was together with the First-in-Command. And he would never forget the first time he met Adam and watched as he sneezed spaghetti out his nose. And Minho swore he would never forget the sound of a human body being stabbed and submerged into a Griever. 

As the hours after the Grievers left wore on, Minho found himself waking up periodically while working on the maps, never recalling falling asleep. Thomas remained by Minho’s side as they worked, even when Teresa asked the freckled teen to look at what she had completed. Minho’s fuzzy brain wondered if they had really known each other before, and if they had been intimate with each other… if Minho had inadvertently taken something away from the pale-faced girl. Minho didn’t let himself consider those thoughts for long.

They ate sparingly as they worked, not wanting to spill anything on the maps, and also trying to ration their supplies. With the Doors open and the sky gone, everyone was convinced they wouldn’t be receiving any more supplies in the Box. Frypan was genius in his frugal creations, and the Gladers remained functioning on daily soups and simple breads and cheeses. 

Minho, in his exhaustion and trepidation at the words they found within the maps, didn’t notice Thomas’ pained expression as the hours crawled slowly towards nightfall. 

*******

The third night after the Doors remained open was the worst. Because that night, Minho wasn’t holding Thomas when they heard the distant whirring and sluggish movement of the Grievers leaving the Maze. He stood beside the freckled boy, his hand on his lower back, his trusty blade clenched in the other. When suddenly, Thomas barreled his way past Minho, down the steps, and out of the Homestead before Minho could think, “stop!” 

“Thomas! Thomas, what the shuck—come back! What are you—“ Minho felt strong hands grab him and hold him back from the sprinting teen. “NO! Let me go! You shanks, he’s going to kill himself—“ Chris cursed behind him, and suddenly Minho was free, and he careened through the building and outside, watching as Thomas was stabbed over and over by the filthy, fleshy beasts on the fresh green grass. _Thomas, Thomas, Thomas, oh god no._ The sound of needles piercing flesh was so much worse when it came from Thomas. 

Minho blinked and felt a body race past him. Chris outran Minho. As the Grievers closed in on Thomas, Chris leapt in and scooped up the teen like he was a sack of potatoes. He turned and tried to run back with him. Minho was screaming, his throat raw and his feet pounded on the grass. Chris fell. He looked at Minho in desperation as the Grievers began to surround the two boys. Chris staggered to his feet and flung Thomas away from him, away from the Grievers, before a needle shot out and impaled Chris’ calf. Chris cried out, his booming voice echoing over the Glade, just like it did every day. Minho would remember that cry until the day he died. 

Minho had reached Thomas’ motionless body, but the Grievers were surrounding Chris and Minho couldn’t think what he was going to do. Minho fell to his knees and felt for Thomas’ pulse, but his hands were shaking so bad and the Grievers were so loud, Minho couldn’t find it. Minho yelled as he glanced between Thomas and Chris, readying his knife as he brought himself to his feet again. _Maybe if I could just distract them for a moment, then he could get out--_

“Minho!” Chris’ voice hit Minho like a hot knife. His name was shouted almost like an order. Minho gazed at Chris for direction, and watched Chris almost manage a smile. Minho couldn’t believe what could be happening. He shook his head. No. _No no no._

“No, Chris, we can figure it out—“ Chris’ smile turned into a terrified contortion of crooked lips and tear-filled eyes before he simply let himself fall over. His body sank into the gelatinous mass of death, and spikes shot up through his person like a slice of soft cake. Minho gagged and felt tears running down his face, but the Grievers were leaving already and Thomas was dying and Minho could run. So he ran. 

He could hear Teresa screaming from the Homestead. He could hear Newt shouting at him to grab Thomas. He could hear himself yelling for Med-jacks to get the Grief Serum ready. But he couldn’t feel anything, not even when Thomas mumbled that it was on purpose before he went slack in Minho’s arms, nor when the Asian strained his muscles to the point of splitting as he ran the boy up to the Homestead. He couldn’t feel a thing. 

Leo was suddenly beside him as Minho made his way up the stairs. He stabbed the syringe into Thomas’ thigh with a vengeance, like the act itself would bring the boy back to wakefulness. It didn’t. Minho made it to the bed and nearly collapsed as he dropped Thomas into the sheets. He heard himself mumbling to Thomas, heard himself calling for Chris, but still couldn’t feel anything. At some point, he passed out against Thomas’ chest, the smell of death thick on his tongue. 

And he awoke to screaming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All sentences that are underlined are from this source:
> 
> Dashner, J. (2009). _The maze runner._ New York: Delacorte Press.
> 
> How do you feel about Minho's perception of Teresa? Does it seem realistic? Because that's were my mind would go if I were in Minho's position (or maybe that's just the kind of person I am and how I feel about the girl).


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minho uses some maladaptive coping mechanisms at the beginning of the end.

When the Grievers took George the following night, Minho raced after the shuckers into the Maze. He needed to do something, even if that was just seeing again that the beasts were diving off the Cliff… 

And there they were. Each and every Griever leapt from the Cliff and into the Griever Hole, George’s body submerged into a fleshy mass as it made the jump. Minho didn’t feel fear when he followed them, nor did he feel fear as he turned his heel without a backward glance and raced back to the Homestead. He delivered his report briskly to Newt before taking his place beside Thomas. 

His green veins and piercing screams didn’t make Minho feel anything. 

Minho ran during the day with the other Runners, searching for a change within the familiar paths. When he returned with nothing, he dove into finding more words within the Maze maps. He didn’t feel anything when Teresa sat beside him and asked how Thomas was doing. He didn’t feel anything when he lied and said he slept most of the time. Minho didn’t even feel glad that she didn’t pry. 

The second night Thomas was unconscious, they took Zart. The third, they took Sam. 

Minho watched their bodies enter the Griever Hole, and wondered if witnessing that plunge was enough to honor their memories. He hardly tasted to bile that rose on his tongue and didn’t feel anything as his feet pounded soundly on the Maze floor. 

Time passed like time does when you’re in a severe state of stress and the sky is gone. Minho hardly ate, hardly drank, and his eyes felt like he hardly blinked. They throbbed into his brain and stung constantly. He found himself repeatedly scraping away crust and goo as he ran or while he was tracing the maps. As painful as it was, Minho didn’t really notice any of it. Minho didn’t even notice that the only sleep he had was when he literally drifted unconscious while sitting at Thomas’ bedside or while working on the maps. He hardly felt the fear of his sharp, crimson dreams that sliced through his mind when he accidently fell asleep. Minho just tried to keep his eyes open a little longer. 

_Just a little longer._

But that’s where Minho found himself, because when Thomas finally opened his eyes, Minho didn’t have the chance to see them open. He was draped over the other teen in a state of unconsciousness himself. 

A hand carded through Minho’s hair, and he wondered what kind of dream this was. At least it wasn’t of death and decay, like they all had been for the past seventy-two hours. Minho’s body was leaden and stiff as the Asian slowly came to. There were voices around him, but he couldn’t discern their words or their owners. The fingers were so gentle. Minho couldn’t comprehend anything other than, “nice”. It wasn’t just his body. It was his mind that was heavy. 

The rhythmic stroking over his scalp came to an end, and the surface beneath Minho shifted. Minho groaned. Even Minho’s head was throbbing heavily. He finally forced his eyes open when a familiar voice cried, “He’s awake! Thomas is awake!” 

That got Minho’s attention. He sat up with difficulty, his tongue heavy and head fuzzy. “Thomas…?” Minho slurred. He blinked away the sleep in his eyes, crusty and like chisels in the corners of his eyes, and saw Thomas before him. The boy was saying something to Chuck beside him. _Ah, so that’s who was yelling._ When the freckled teen heard Minho speak, he whipped his head around and leaned towards him so fast, Minho had to blink repeatedly to refocus, his brain pounding like Chris had smashed it between his two beefy hands.

_Chris…_

“Minho…” Thomas sounded almost sad. “What did you do to yourself while I was out?” Minho couldn’t comprehend the question. _What… what did I do? Me? What did_ you _do?_

“Minho, I had to, I needed to get my memories back.” Thomas shook Minho gently, and Minho wasn’t sure when Thomas’ hands had gotten there. “Don’t you understand?”

“Tommy…” Newt appeared in the door with a worse-for-wear Alby directly beside him. “He’s… had a rough few days, give him a freakin’ break.” Minho couldn’t discern what kind of tone Newt was using. It was as if he was trying not to spook Minho. Minho decided he didn’t like it. “Also, what you did was half brave and half bloody stupid. Seems you’re pretty good at that.”

“Min, I’ve figured it out,” Thomas said, bringing a hand up to cup Minho’s cheek. Minho was glad he could at least make out Thomas’ gemstones eyes. “It’s not pretty,” Thomas continued and he looked over the Newt and Alby with furrowed brows. Minho dragged his eyes from the beautiful, awake boy, and over to the boarded up window. He felt his heart beat slow and steady in his chest.

“When is it ever pretty,” Alby muttered as he shouldered his way into the room. “There isn’t a way out.”

“There is, though,” Thomas insisted. Minho heard the excitement in Thomas’ voice, but couldn’t share it. He couldn’t feel anything but heavy. _Heavy and tired._

“But… it’s through the Griever Hole… there’s a computer down there, and the code from the maps needs to be inputted there. By doing that, the entire Maze and the Grievers will shut down.” Thomas was still looking at Newt and Alby, and he took his warm hand from Minho’s face to gesticulate with his words. “It’s all been a test. To find the strongest of us, the most capable of passing… something. It’s a sick way of… of natural selection.” 

_Natural selection didn’t kill Alex,_ Minho thought, blinking slowly. _Natural selection didn’t kill Chris._

“There’s more, though…” Thomas said, and Minho heard him take a quick breath before saying, “I created the Maze. Teresa and I created it, and we were two of the first Gladers here. That’s… that’s why it was familiar. And… god I’m so sorry.” 

_They sacrificed themselves for others. Both of them. I don’t see anything natural about that._

“Tommy, that wasn’t you,” Newt said firmly. “That was the Creators. They made you do it.”

“How do you know that?” Alby said gruffly, but Newt ignored him. 

“If anything, you’re helping us get back at the Creators for everything they’ve done to us.” There was a pause. Minho briefly wondered what nonverbal messages were being conveyed between the two teens. 

“Have you figured out any more of the code?” Thomas asked eventually, and he could hear rather than see the boy stand slowly from the bed before walking over to the door. 

“We finished it, we think,” Newt said, his voice the louder of the two. Minho figured the blond was facing Minho. Minho could already see his concerned expression. Minho almost wanted to laugh at him, wanted to brush off Newt’s worries and provide some comic relief. If only he weren’t so shucking _tired._ Minho watched as dust motes floated in the light shining through the window boards. He couldn’t feel anything.

“FLOAT. CATCH. BLEED. DEATH. STIFF. PUSH. That’s it. After PUSH, there aren’t any letters for a bit, and then it goes back to FLOAT. We’re assuming that means they’re the last and first words respectively,” Newt explained.

“We need to make a plan and then we’ll need to discuss it with everyone,” Thomas said as he walked through the door. “This… Minho, you coming?” Minho heard footsteps approach him, but he didn’t turn. Not yet. Too tired. “Dude, what is up with you? This is it… this is finding the end of the Maze. What’s your problem?” 

“Thomas, you don’t know what bloody happened while you were out,” Newt snapped, and Minho suddenly felt Newt’s hand on his shoulder. “You went off and played the martyr again and buggin’ left us to clean up and make sure you didn’t shucking die.” 

Minho felt a twinge in his chest at his best friend’s words. He actually _felt_ something. Minho suddenly wished he had the energy to even say he was fine. Minho supposed that meant he wasn’t fine, and his head pulsed savagely enough that he let out a slow, hard breath and closed his eyes. 

“Hey,” a voice said directly in front of Minho. “Min… open your eyes, Minho.” Minho struggled to obey, but the throbbing in his head was becoming worse with every word he heard. He managed to slit them open ever so slightly, watching as his freckled boy hovered before him with an expression of guilt and worry. 

“You understand it was for you? And everyone here, right?” Minho managed to nod. 

_That’s not the problem,_ Minho thought. _Okay, that’s sort of a problem. I just don’t like losing people. I’m hurting. I can’t think. I can’t feel anything. Thomas, I’m just so tired…_

“If you’re wondering why wonderboy is acting like a vegetable,” another voice sounded from the doorway, “it’s because he hasn’t actually had his vegetables.” Leo brought a hard hand down on Minho’s shoulder, and the Asian groaned. Minho squeezed his eyes shut and lowered his head into his hands. 

“He hasn’t been eating, and I don’t think he’s been drinking, either, even though he ran twice every day you were out,” Leo said, and Minho felt a canteen hit his fingertips. He grabbed the cool metal and brought it slowly to his lips, his movements on autopilot. It tasted like heaven, and Minho drank the entire thing dry before he realized he was thirsty. 

“Twice?” Thomas barked. “Why the shuck…?”

“He explored the Maze with the other Runners in case it had changed, and then would chase the Grievers after they took… took Zark and Sam,” Newt explained, pausing for a quick breath before mentioning the newly fallen. 

“When did you sleep?” Thomas growled. 

“He didn’t,” Leo supplied with sounded like a stiff grin. “I mean, hardly enough to sustain what he’s been doing to himself.”

“Why the shuck didn’t you take care of yourself!” Thomas said, and Minho could feel him closing in. Minho prepared himself for more yelling and an even worsening headache. What he didn’t expect was for Leo to come to his shucking rescue. 

“No, you sit your klunk-butt down and think for a second, slinthead,” Leo said quietly. He sounded almost lethal, if Minho were honest. Another canteen was given to Minho, and the Asian began to sip on it with his eyes still closed. “You sacrificed yourself—great! You did it!! – and left your shucking boyfriend to watch over your screaming comatose body,” Leo paused, “work on the maps with Newt and Alby,” another pause, “and work through watching his friend die in front of him.” 

“Who—“ Thomas was cut off again. 

“This guy may be buff, good-looking, and one of the first Gladers, but he’s still shucking human,” Leo stated, shoving something cold and flat into Minho’s hand. Minho realized it was a plate, and he opened his eyes slightly to see a pile of ham, three pickles, and a large chunk of white cheese. “Obviously, because he’s severely dehydrated and malnourished, but would he listen to me when I told him to eat? Oh, no!”

“You didn’t tell me to eat,” Minho slurred before brining a slice of ham to his lips. It didn’t really taste like anything, and Minho wondered if that were the meat or his own perception of the world right now. 

“I did, ya shank,” Leo said and pointed a stern finger at Minho. Two curls had fallen from Leo’s ponytail and he looked positively worn to the bone. Minho felt his lips twist in a slight smirk. “See, it’s already working. Shucking Runners and their antics, I swear…” Leo stomped away, but not before yelling, “and drink two more of those canteens, slinthead!” before his footsteps faded outside the Homestead. 

Minho watched as Thomas sat on the bed beside him, and felt himself become more inclined to the food on his plate. He began to eat with fervor, gulping water and chewing rapidly just so he could get another bite. The fog that had been weighing over Minho was lifting slightly, but Minho’s head still ached and his muscles still seized when he moved them. Minho still heard the echo of Chris’ cry in his heart. 

“We’ll meet you downstairs,” Newt said. “Minho, you okay?” Minho found he had the energy to turn in his seat now. He gave a small smile. 

“I’ll see you downstairs,” Minho said roughly, noticing Alby had already gone. Newt nodded before turning to descend the steps. A hand placed itself on Minho’s thigh, and Minho turned back to see Thomas clenching his jaw with glassy eyes. 

“Min, where’s Chris.” Minho tried to swallow, suddenly unable to get that bite of cheese down. He took a swig of water, trying not to choke. 

“He saved you,” Minho said, his voice hard and rusty. Thomas shook his head before lowering it down to Minho’s shoulder. Minho brought an arm up to rest it over Thomas’ shoulders. “So don’t shucking waste it.” Minho almost spit the last two words out, his heart stuttering and gut clenching. Thomas gripped Minho’s shirt and released a short, choked sob.

Minho forced down the rest of the food on his plate as Thomas released two more broken sounds on his shoulder. He finished the second water canteen. He breathed in Thomas’ scent and slowly, so slowly, began to feel the sheer pain of losing Chris. It was like metal wires were enclosing his throat and chest, stabbing him repeatedly. Like the Grievers had done to Chris. 

_Funny, how you want to feel everything when you can’t, and then when you finally do, you want it all to go away._

Thomas sat up after a few minutes and scrubbed his face quickly. 

“We’re going to get out, Minho,” Thomas said, his amber eyes bright like small stars. 

“Then let’s go,” Minho responded, taking Thomas’ hand in his own. “I’ll try to stay hydrated from now on. Water is the shuck, I get it now.” The disbelieving huff of laughter Thomas released was worth the effort, and his eyes had never looked so precious while locked with Minho’s own.

*******

They stood before the West Door. They had planned their escape. Some of the Gladers were staying behind in the Homestead while most of them were gathered behind himself, Thomas, Teresa, Newt, and Alby. Frypan’s last meal was giving Minho new strength, and he tightened his grip on his blade. He shifted slightly, feeling the leather grip of his barbwire-wrapped club in his other hand. They all held weapons, some of the boys for the first time. Minho rolled his neck and shoulders with trepidation. 

The plan was to get Thomas and Teresa to the Griever Hole, where they would jump in and activate the Maze shutdown with the code. FLOAT. CATCH. BLEED. DEATH. STIFF. PUSH. All the Gladers knew it by heart now. 

Newt gave a speech that had everyone crowing and cheering before they began the quick march into the Maze. Minho kept right beside Thomas so their shoulders brushed occasionally. He couldn’t tell who it was comforting more, at this point: himself or the freckled teen at his side. 

Most importantly, Minho could feel again. He felt the breeze on his cheeks, the sand in his shoes, and the weight of his club as he swung it up to balance on his shoulder. He felt the ache of Chris’ loss and the heat of his feelings for Thomas. He felt the fear of the fight ahead and the hope that, soon, it would all be over. Minho concentrated on the power of his emotions as each step brought the Gladers closer to the Griever Hole. 

All too soon, yet not soon enough, Minho and the others rounded the corner to see a row of Grievers. Waiting for them. Minho took a shuddering breath. 

“Maybe we can sneak around them, they’re like the ‘dead’ ones—“ but suddenly, the Grievers began to move and whir and crowd towards the Gladers. Minho instinctively stood in front of Thomas and put a hand behind him protectively, his blade between himself and Thomas. Thomas put a hand on Minho’s shoulder and stepped beside him. 

However, the Grievers weren’t close enough to sting, and they prowled just ahead. Based on the cries from behind Minho, he could assume the Grievers had come from behind the group as well. They were surrounded. Minho couldn’t understand what the monsters were doing. Newt was shaking his head beside him. 

“What do we do?” someone in the crowd whispered. 

“We shouldn’t have come,” another voice moaned. It was Alby, and Minho turned his head sharply, about to say that words like that were not comforting right now. “Maybe I should…” Alby murmured. Minho’s jaw dropped when Alby stepped forward towards the Cliff and the surrounding Grievers. 

“Alby?” Newt said. “Get back here!” But Alby began to walk faster and faster until he was racing straight for death itself like a bullet. 

“Alby!” Newt screamed. The dark-skinned boy jumped in the air, and for a moment he flew in slow motion, before he landed with a familiar squelch onto the metal spikes of a Griever. Minho forced himself to look away and wrap an arm around Newt who was despondent, screaming after Alby even though Minho knew the Glader was already dead. 

Minho held Newt even when he heard the whirring and clanging of the Grievers as they swarmed over their fallen First-in-Command. The blond was struggling weakly, his cries choked and wet in Minho’s shirt. “We can’t do this here,” Minho said, hating himself as the words left his lips. “We need to get out. Newt!” Minho stood back and shook the teen. “Maybe his sacrifice was enough to let us through!”

“Minho,” Thomas said, his hand grabbing for Minho blindly. Minho turned to see the Grievers moving steadily towards the group. This time they weren’t stopping. “He wasn’t enough,” Thomas gasped. Minho turned with a growl to face the shuckers, his blade held high.

_It’s now or never,_ Minho thought desperately. No one was moving. Minho swallowed and took a step forward. _I’m the Keeper of the Runners. This is my territory. I gotta make this move. It has to be me._

“Ready!” Minho cried, his blade glinting in the grey light. “ _Now!_ ”

Minho ran forward and felt the stampede of feet that followed after him. He felt Newt beside him and Thomas on his other side. _I need to keep him safe, get him and Teresa to the Griever Hole, need to keep him safe._ It was a mantra that Minho repeated to himself as he drove his club down into the first Griever and nearly lifted the fleshy orb from the ground. He roared as he flung it to the side and took another step forward. 

The next Griever was wheeling its clawed hand before it like a party trick, the metal contraption capable of ripping out Minho’s intestines and tangling them into spaghetti. That is, it was capable of that until Minho swung his blade and severed it clean in half. Minho stabbed the goo beside the beast’s arm and was satisfied when the Griever deflated into a gelatinous mass. 

Minho kept going, shouting and screaming, unsure exactly what he was saying, but knowing it was along the lines of his repeated mantra. 

“Thomas, I got you, keep going!” Minho cried as he pounded another Griever into pulp. “I’ll protect you, just go! Thomas, just go!” 

The freckled teen, speckled in green fleshy bits, was racing with Chuck and Teresa in tow towards the Cliff. A Griever slid towards Chuck and Minho roared as he leapt towards the monster, batting it away with his club even as his muscles threatened to fail him. Minho gasped as he stumbled to keep the beasts from the running trio. 

“Just go Thomas, I’ve got you!” 

Minho couldn’t feel his fingers has he stabbed and swung and shouted. He felt the Grievers snag him occasionally, but remained conscious. _Thomas was right,_ Minho thought, remembering when Thomas suspected the Grievers wouldn’t sting them at this point. That instead, they were focused on the End Game. Minho had been sickened at the thought, but now he was only grateful. 

Suddenly, a boy Minho had built part of the Homestead with rolled away on the belly of a Griever. Minho shouted nothing in particular and stabbed the beast over and over until it disintegrated, leaving the Glader’s body to absorb the mess. Minho didn’t let himself watch for longer than a moment. 

The louder Minho shouted, the less fear he felt, like he was projecting the emotion across the Maze so it couldn’t envelop him in a cloak of paralyzing terror. However, when Minho scanned the melee of oil, bodies, and Grievers, he couldn’t see Thomas. 

“Thomas!” Minho screamed, sweat dripping into his eyes and into his mouth. _Please tell me Thomas reached the Cliff, please tell me he made it, oh god please._ “Thomas!” He was nowhere to be found. 

“Newt!” Minho tried as he avoided a surge of needles and chopped off another metal arm. A body collided into Minho’s, and the Asian immediately recognized the blond hair that hit his face. 

“I’m here,” Newt gasped, leaning heavily against Minho’s back as he used his spear against a different Griever. Minho could tell Newt’s knee was paining him. 

“Did they make it?” Minho said, his voice cracking. 

“I saw him jump,” Newt responded, and Minho felt a rush of relief so intense that it almost brought spots to his vision. Minho didn’t respond, but he made sure he didn’t leave Newt’s side. 

Suddenly, everything stopped. The Griever’s whirring ceased, their metal spikes and weapons retreated into their bodies, and they just… went quiet. Minho gasped and pressed against Newt behind him so he wouldn’t collapse. 

“They did it,” he whispered. “Thomas did it!” Minho cried louder, and the resounding shouts of victory around the clearing were music to Minho’s ears. Minho turned and looked at the carnage before the Cliff. He counted twenty-one standing, meaning twenty had either ran back to the Glade, or…

Minho saw Amerigo lying limp beside a powered-down Griever, three cavernous holes turning his chest bloody. Minho looked away.

Minho held onto Newt as they made their way to the Griever Hole. Minho was heaving, his lungs straining as he nodded at Newt. They stood for a moment at the edge of the Cliff, scanning each other in disbelief. They had done it. Minho saw both pain and hope in Newt’s eyes. Then Minho turned and jumped into the Hole. 

Minho landed on a metal floor and he stumbled over to the wall, leaning against the cool surface as he caught his breath. 

“Minho!” 

Almost immediately, insistent hands were grasping his arms and chest. Minho reached up to hold Thomas still before leaning his forehead against the freckled teens. 

“We lost so many… so much blood… then they all stopped,” Minho said, his voice cracking and gasping for air. Minho heard a thud and turned to see Newt, followed by the rest who had survived. Twenty-one. That was all. 

They _had_ to get out. _It had to be worth it._

*******

The following events were a blur of anxiety, adrenaline, and confusion, all in that order. 

When Gally appeared with the Creators, he was very much alive. And when he reached behind himself and flung a blade towards Thomas, it was so fast that Minho could only turn and take one step towards Thomas. Minho’s mind was screaming to protect him--- only to find himself careening sideways and _away_ from Thomas. 

Thomas screamed as Chuck lay bleeding on the metal floor. Minho rolled over and stared in anguish as Thomas cried over the boy, listening to his last words. To find his mom. Minho’s eyes found the woman who brought Gally in to the chamber with her, and she gave a pitying smile, as if she was saying, “that’s life, isn’t it?” 

_These shucking Creators and their games and trials—we’re people! Some of us are kids! You’re all sick in the head!_

Minho was about to race over and show her what life was really like when Thomas was roaring and flinging himself over to Gally, punching him with abandon. Minho and Newt rushed in and tried to get a hold of the teen, but he was savage in his attack. Minho was hit in the gut as he rushed to take one arm, wanting nothing more than for Gally to meet his demise, but not wanting Thomas to take the fall for the death of the Creator’s ‘pet’. 

Minho and Newt dragged Thomas back and held him until he went limp and weak in their arms. Minho let go when Thomas shook him off, this time, and watched him crawl back to Chuck with a lump in his throat. Thomas’ cries echoed in the chamber, and Minho wished he could hold him. 

“All things happen for a purpose,” the woman said kindly, and Minho sneered at her. 

“Yes, this was all so _kind_ of you,” Minho said. 

“You wouldn’t understand, now would you,” she snapped. “This is all for—“

Shots, loud as firecrackers in a trashcan, crashed into the chamber. Minho ducked and covered his head, rushing towards Thomas in single-minded terror. The woman was dead, her blood pooling under her casual suit and blouse. Minho was holding Thomas, gripping his head and holding it under his arms as he crouched in the din. 

A man approached them and told them to run and follow him. Run like their lives depended on it. Minho was glad something sounded familiar right now. He righted Thomas on his feet and took off with the freckled teen in tow, even as he felt the boy turn and look one last time as Chuck’s stone-still body. 

They kept running until they reached a set of glass doors that opened into a downpour. _No shucking way,_ Minho thought, gasping as the water hit his body. He couldn’t remember ever seeing or feeling rain before. 

Suddenly, they were boarding a bus that appeared in the torrent. It looked like it wouldn’t last a mile, but they piled in anyways, and Minho continued to drag Thomas until they were seated in the back. Teresa was sitting in the seat before Minho and Thomas, looking like a cold rat with her dark hair matted to her head. Newt sat opposite Minho with Leo beside him. Frypan and the others were all seated in the bus. Minho gave a sigh of relief that he still counted twenty-one. _No one was caught in the crossfire._

Minho dragged his hands over Thomas, searching for any injuries, while Thomas stared ahead like he wasn’t really seeing anything at all. Minho knew the feeling well, and he held Thomas tightly, wishing he could take all the pain away. 

*******

The following hours were surreal. Even after reaching their destination, eating real pizza, and crawling into bed with Thomas at his side, Minho couldn’t help but worry that this was another trap. He looked over at Thomas, and the boy looked better than Minho imagined he felt. Minho was once again amazed at how resilient Thomas was. 

“Hey,” Minho said, curling his body around Thomas like he used to. _Goodness, how long has it been…_

“Hey,” Thomas replied. He moved slightly before turning in Minho’s hold so that he could face the other teen. His gemstone eyes were weary and laced with grief. Minho leaned in a pressed a firm kiss to Thomas’ forehead. 

“We made it,” Minho whispered against Thomas’ skin. 

“At what cost?” Thomas asked. 

“A big one.” A pause. “We’ll need to make sure we pay our debt in full.” Thomas sighed and pulled Minho’s face down, holding his face and stroking his cheeks. Minho’s stomach spun with new butterflies. 

“I don’t know what I would have done if that were you,” Thomas said. Minho swallowed. “I felt you move. For a moment, I thought… but then it was… and I was almost… almost—“ Thomas couldn’t finish. 

“I know,” Minho said. “Me too. Me too, Thomas…”

Exhaustion hit Minho and he tangled his legs around Thomas’ while running a hand down Thomas’ side to rest on his hip. Thomas leaned forward and kissed Minho softly. They kissed slowly with only the intention of feeling each other. It was calming and sweet, and it melted Minho’s remaining worries and fears for the moment. He opened his eyes when Thomas pulled away, not ever remembering that he closed them. 

“Teresa’s talking to me,” Thomas breathed. Minho made a noise of affirmation.  
“She’s saying she wants to remember us. Me and her. From before. What we were to each other and everything.”

“Do _you_ want to remember?” Minho said. The kiss left him warm and grateful, and he couldn’t bring himself to let the claws of jealousy worm into his head this time. 

“Maybe,” Thomas said. “But not for that reason. And… if we had been together then… that was then.” Thomas shook his head slightly. “I wouldn’t let you go for anything, now.”

“Good,” Minho sighed, stroking his thumb on Thomas’ hip. “Because I’ve got backup plans A through Z to keep you. Might be a little tedious, but I’d work my butt off to convince you to stay with me. May have even collected some blackmail.” Thomas huffed through his nose, expression unimpressed but eyes glimmering back at Minho. 

“Okay,” Thomas said, and he shifted to rest his hand on Minho’s before bringing it up to his lips. He pressed a kiss on each knuckle before lowering it to the bed between them and closed his eyes with a sigh. “Here’s to paying our debts,” he murmured. Minho’s heart ached. 

“Tomboy?”

“Hmmm.” 

“You know that I—I lo—“ Minho’s voice cracked and he stopped, jaw clenching. 

“I know,” Thomas said. “Me too. Me too, Min…” 

Minho released a breath he didn’t know he was holding, and finally let himself sink fully into the pillows. He knew that he would wake up with Thomas by his side, and that was all he needed right now. In this moment, they had completed the Maze Trials and were alive and together. 

Minho could live with that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All sentences that are underlined are from this source:
> 
> Dashner, J. (2009). _The maze runner._ New York: Delacorte Press.
> 
> And that's a wrap! 
> 
> I'm reading The Scorch Trials right now and am considering writing a fic based off that, as well. So a sequel to this one, following the parallels and such. Mostly for my own selfish desire for these boys to be together, sue me, but if anyone else is also interested, let me know in the comments! Does wonders for motivation, that.
> 
> Thanks for reading!~~

**Author's Note:**

> All sentences that are underlined are from this source:
> 
> Dashner, J. (2009). _The maze runner._ New York: Delacorte Press.
> 
>  
> 
> I have the entire work written, but I want to work out the kinks in the last couple chapters. I will post the rest within the week. Let me know what you think in the comments!~


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